State of Grace
by megie
Summary: Who knew happily ever after could be so difficult; the continuation of the lives of Grace, Oliver and Annie following the end of the 1982 movie. Based on and a sequel to Whimsicle-1's "Interludes and Everafters," which can be found on this site.


**Disclaimer:** All characters and situations belong to Columbia Pictures and/or Rastar Productions. I don't own any character in this story and intend no copyright infringement. However the words are my own. This story may not be reprinted (on paper or electronically) or sold without my permission.

This story is a sequel to Whimsicle-1's wonderful _Interludes and Everafters, _which can be found on this site. You will need to read that first as my story picks up literally where it left off, i.e. the day after the dramatic rescue of Annie on the bridge. There are also several plot threads that I carry on and expand.

**Dedication:** I dedicate this story to Whimsicle-1. Without her inspiration, I would never have spent 7 months writing the continuing saga of Grace Farrell that I've been thinking about for the last 30 years, only didn't know it. The process was actually quite cathartic!

_STATE OF GRACE_

By

Megie

CHAPTER 1

The mansion had been a bustle of activity all afternoon, and Annie's adoption party wasn't due to begin for another two hours.

Grace Farrell tapped the pad on the desk in front of her with her pencil, wondering if she'd forgotten anything. She'd spent a good portion of the day sitting in Mr. Warbucks' office, making dozens of phone calls in an attempt to organize the celebration on incredibly short notice. Usually Warbucks gave her a week to arrange all the particulars involved in this type of event; still not enough time in her opinion, but for this party he'd given her about 12 hours to work with. Thus she was surprised at how easy everything had fallen into place. Amazingly, she'd found a caterer, a light supplier, a fireworks display, and of all things, a circus.

A special request from Mr. Warbucks himself, Grace wasn't sure if the circus was for Annie or for him. As a vague explanation as he ushered Annie out of the house that morning, he said he'd loved a good circus since he was a boy, and left it up to her. It was the first she'd heard that bit of news, and it occurred to her once again that there was a lot about Oliver Warbucks she hadn't been privy to over the years.

Unfortunately, she didn't have time to dwell on the subject of her fiancé. She was writing down more instructions for the cleaning staff when she heard Annie's distinctive voice downstairs, followed by Sandy's welcoming barks. Within minutes Grace could hear Annie running down the hall towards Mr. Warbucks'…towards _Oliver's, _she corrected herself…office long before she appeared in the doorway. Looking up from the tablet in front of her, she smiled and turned in time to see the red haired ball of energy bound into the room, with Sandy right behind her. Annie practically jumped into Grace's lap in her enthusiasm.

"Oh, Miss Farrell, guess what we did today!"

Knowing that Oliver had planned to see Judge Drain that morning to finalize Annie's adoption, Grace asked, "Did you officially become Annie Warbucks this morning?"

"Yes! Daddy Warbucks has the papers safe in his briefcase."

_I'm sure he does!_ Grace thought in wry amusement, given the events of the last twenty-four hours. Aloud she asked, "How did it go?"

"Great! There were a lot of people there, and we had our picture taken for the newspaper. I got to talk on the radio, but it wasn't like _The Iodent Hour. _ I just talked into a microphone while everyone stood around. The judge was nice, but he was kinda funny lookin'."

Grace laughed, silently agreeing with Annie. Judge Drain did look rather odd with a long, old fashioned mustache to accompany his very long beard. The fact that he had more hair on his face than on his head didn't help matters any. Very few men could carry off baldness with style. Oliver was one of the few in her opinion, but she might be a little biased on the subject.

Annie went on. "Then the police chief shook my hand and the mayor told Daddy Warbucks that since I had a daddy, now he had to find me a mom, and if he needed help, to ask him."

Grace's eyes grew wide and her eyebrows arched to her hairline. _Oh, I bet he loved that!_ Considering Oliver had wanted to keep the adoption proceedings as quiet as possible, he was probably spitting nails by that point. "And what did your father say?"

"He said he'd already done that just fine on his own and if he needed help in the romance department, he certainly wouldn't be asking a democrat."

Grace threw her head back and laughed so hard, tears ran down her cheeks. "Oh, I wish I'd been there!" she gasped.

"So do I. I'm sure you would have given him the earful he deserved."

Grace and Annie turned to see Oliver Warbucks standing in the doorway, watching them in amusement.

Wiping the tears from her face, Grace asked, "Oliver, you didn't really say that, did you?"

"I most certainly did. I thought O'Brien was being incredibly impertinent and rude." He strode into the office and dropped a kiss on the top of Grace's head.

Still chuckling she grabbed his hand as she said, "No, he was being nosy. You know that man's a horrible gossip."

Annie, who really wasn't following what her parents were talking about, continued, "I told him all about you, Miss Farrell, how Daddy Warbucks asked you to marry him last night, and that you're the prettiest and the best mom ever!"

"That's a resounding endorsement if I ever heard one!" Grace hugged Annie. "The next time you get adopted, I'll be sure to be there and see it all myself. But it's 6:00. Just what have you two been doing since the ceremony this morning?" Oliver and Annie had obviously done something else all day, which had been Oliver's plan; keep Annie busy so Grace and the rest of the staff would be free to plan the adoption party.

Annie's eyes lit up in delight. "Oh, you'll never guess where we went." She began jumping up and down in her excitement to tell her mother. "Can I tell her Daddy Warbucks?"

Chuckling, Oliver nodded.

"We went to the zoo, Miss Farrell, and saw all kinds of animals from all over the world! I got to pet the sea lions and we saw a tiger and a giraffe. Some monkeys took my hat and a zoo person had to get it back. We ate ice cream and cotton candy and I drank lemonade for the first time. It was so much fun!"

Grace gave Oliver a sideways glance. "Ice cream _and _cotton candy?" With that much sugar, no wonder Annie was bouncing off the walls.

"It's a special day, and the zoo is a special place," he explained. "The perfect setting to eat food that's not good for you." Grace looked unconvinced. "Annie liked it!" he finally defended.

"Can we take Miss Farrell there someday?" Annie asked her father, still jumping up and down.

Grace smiled again. Annie's enthusiasm was certainly contagious. "I would love to go to the zoo with you. But right now I believe Mrs. Pugh has a treat for you in the kitchen - hopefully one with no sugar. And then you'd better take a bath and get ready for the party."

"Okay." Before she skipped away, she asked Grace, "Can I watch you get ready? I can't wait to see you in your dress!"

Laughing again, Grace nodded, "Yes, now get going."

With that, Annie hopped out the door and down the hall, closely followed by Sandy.

Grace gave a long sigh. "I feel like I've just been hit by a tornado. Was she like that all day?"

"Pretty much, but I think her energy did increase after the cotton candy." Oliver took a seat next to the desk as Grace occupied his usual chair in order to have easier access to the telephones. "Why don't you fill me in on some of the party details while I recuperate? I assume you've been busy."

Grace sat up straighter and slipped into secretary mode. Oliver's eyes crinkled in amusement at the transformation.

"We have been busy," Grace began, indicating that many of the staff had been working on the arrangements as well. "Despite the short notice, I've engaged a caterer to help the kitchen staff supply the food. We decided it would be easiest to offer sandwiches, vegetables, fruit and cheese and crackers since everything will be served outside. That's all being prepared now. A small circus is setting up on the rear veranda with everything from a tight rope walker to an elephant. I've been informed that your house doesn't accommodate a trapeze very well, so that won't be included in the entertainment." Her voice took on a long-suffering tone, indicating that an in-depth discussion had accompanied that decision. "However, we do have lots of lights, caramel corn, fireworks, and of course, cotton candy. I think even your sweet tooth will be satisfied."

Oliver, who'd stretched out and was lounging in the chair, looked at her with raised eyebrows. "I do not have a sweet tooth!"

Grace smiled sweetly, "If you say so." Oliver narrowed his eyes but didn't say anything. Grace continued her recitation. "Two hundred guests have been invited, including Annie's friends from the orphanage and my parents. President and Mrs. Roosevelt should be arriving by 8:30 with the rest of the guests coming any time after 8:00." She glanced through her notes, making sure she hadn't missed anything. "I think that's it, unless there's something else you want me to do?" She looked straight at Oliver, habitually awaiting his instructions.

"As usual, Grace, you've accomplished the near-impossible in the no-time I've given you. Give my commendations to the staff for a job well done. I'm sure Annie will remember tonight for a long time!"

Turning back to her notes, Grace wrote his request down, saying "I think more than Annie will enjoy tonight. Everyone should have a good time."

Oliver slowly stood from the chair and reached for the pencil she was writing with. Plucking it unceremoniously out of her hand, he said, "Now that that's taken care of, it's time to address something that's been on my mind all day." He took her hands and pulled her smoothly out of the chair, wrapping his arms around her. "I've missed you."

Grace smiled in pure girlish delight at his admission. "Really?"

Oliver looked into her face with affection. "Really."

"Care to show me how much?"

His eyes alight with mischief, he murmured, "Now _that's_ an invitation I can't refuse!"

Several minutes later, after he'd trailed kisses down both sides of her neck, among other places, her knees were literally shaking. He brought his lips back up to hers and hovered there, not touching, simply teasing until she gave a soft whimper of frustration. He nipped her bottom lip before pulling away.

"Oliver Warbucks, you're a flirt!"

Now it was his turn to throw his head back in laughter. "I've been called many things, but never a flirt!"

"A gross oversight by the population at large, I'm sure." Grace untangled her arms from around him. "Now if you're finished teasing me, I have to get ready."

He held onto her for a few more seconds. "I'll never finish teasing you, and I'm very curious to see this dress of yours. Annie talked about it the entire way home. She said it was going to…how did she put it…knock my socks off."

Grace laughed at yet another of the strange idioms Annie came up with almost on an hourly basis. "I don't know about your socks, but I hope you like it. However, you'll have to wait and see it at the party. Now let go so I can get ready," she repeated.

He ignored her as he looked at the ceiling in contemplation. "Mostly I'm curious if it's the type of dress that I'll want to peel you out of." He brought his gaze back down and stared intently at her pretty face.

Grace's eyes grew wide and her breath caught in her throat as images his statement conjured barraged her mind.

Oliver had intended his comment to simply be another tease, but Grace's reaction brought the extremely strong attraction he felt for her to his attention. Almost inadvertently his gaze dropped to her lips, traced them, and then slowly travelled back to her eyes.

Watching him, her heart racing, Grace softly breathed, "Oh, I hope so." Without thought she leaned in to kiss him, but as she could almost feel the heat of his lips, someone loudly cleared his throat behind her, near the door.

Oliver briefly shut his eyes in an attempt to control his irritation before he snapped his head up to take in Drake hovering in the doorway, hands behind his back, a patient but somewhat censorious look on his face.

"Yes, Drake?"

"Miss Farrell, the caterers have arrived and wish to know where they will be serving."

Grace, who had rested her forehead against Oliver's chest at the interruption, took a deep breath in an attempt to steady her voice and glanced at the butler before she replied, "Thank you, Drake. Please show them to the rear veranda and I will be down in a moment."

The butler gave a curt nod and disappeared down the hall. Grace stared after him for a second. "I get the distinct feeling Drake doesn't approve of our engagement."

"There isn't much that Drake does approve of," Oliver quipped, "but his opinion of you and me couldn't be less important."

_Easy for you to say. You don't have to work with the man. _ Aloud Grace only gave a noncommittal, "Hmm." Turning back to Oliver, she said, "I'd better take care of the caterers, then I _do_ have to get ready." She stepped away, feeling a little at a loss without him near her, which was ridiculous. She shook her head to clear it of the notion and immediately bumped into the corner of the desk. Catching herself, she knocked one of the phone receivers off its cradle. Quickly turning to right the phone she nearly sent the tickertape machine hurtling off the desk.

Grabbing the machine before it went over the edge, Oliver asked mischievously, "A long time ago, didn't I hear you tell someone that you were a klutz?"

Grace dropped the receiver once more before she finally managed to settle it in the cradle. "Only around you," she sighed in embarrassment, a slight blush coloring her cheeks which Oliver found completely endearing. "Before I do any more damage, I'm leaving. I'll see you at the party."

As she moved away, Oliver reached out and took her hand. Bringing her fingers to his lips, he placed a soft kiss on them. "I look forward to it." With that, he released her. Her heart in her eyes, she gave him a shy smile and quickly ducked her head, making her way out of the room.

Warbucks watched her leave, a tiny smile playing at the corners of his mouth, then he sat behind his desk, intending to get at least 90 minutes of work done. He'd neglected the business the past two days, and there were several items that needed to be dealt with.

After 15 minutes, however, he gave up the notion as no good. He couldn't seem to focus on anything business related. Instead his thoughts stubbornly remained centered on Annie and Grace and how dramatically his life had changed in the past ten days, most notably the last 48 hours.

Long ago Warbucks had accepted the reality that he would never marry or have a family, and wasn't bothered in the least by that fact. Now here he was, not only a father, but engaged, and to his private secretary! He still wasn't sure how it had all come about. One minute he was yelling at his brokers, the next he was buying jewelry for females! Oliver was greatly looking forward to giving Annie her necklace during the party, and he simply wanted to tell everyone he saw that Grace had agreed to be his wife; wanted to shout it from the roof, in fact! If he didn't know better, he'd think the last part of the saga reeked of a sordid affair. But one simply couldn't know Grace and connect her with any sort of affair at all, especially the sordid kind. It just wasn't…_her_.

His thoughts shot back to another time in his life and another woman. He scowled slightly, disliking the avenue his mind had chosen to wander down and told himself severely that this situation was entirely different, that _Grace_ was entirely different. He was only just discovering how different she was from any woman he'd ever known.

She was so…giving was the first word that came to mind, quickly followed by kind, gentle, fun, shy, playful, adorable, and a host of others that brought a smile to his face. She was perfect, and he knew damn well he'd been in love with her for years. It had been a losing battle from the moment she walked through the front door. He never thought he'd be so glad to lose at anything!

What surprised him most about the whole situation was that not only did she seem to feel the same, but was so unconditional about it. She accepted him for him, numerous faults included, and they'd worked together long enough that she was familiar with all of them. But she wasn't a naïve innocent either. She had entered this relationship knowing full well what kind of man he was and that he could be completely irascible at times. So he was stunned to know that she not only loved him, but seemed to simply be overjoyed that he returned her affection. And that's all that she wanted, his affection and love. He realized that in Grace and Annie he'd found possibly the only two females in the world who weren't impressed with his money. For a man in his position of wealth and power, that was positively amazing.

His mind travelled back to two nights ago and the hours of pure pleasure he'd found in Grace's arms. The catalyst for his rather impromptu proposal, although, he mused, that would have happened anyway, her behavior that night had nearly left him reeling. She was, to put it mildly, incredible. That she had initiated their lovemaking in the first place was so out of character for the Grace Farrell he knew, or thought he knew, that he still had trouble wrapping his mind around it. Quite frankly it shocked the hell out of him. But what shook him to the core was how _open_ she was. She'd offered him her love and her body, trusting both to him so completely that he was left truly humbled. And utterly in love.

Oliver sighed, feeling giddily and foolishly happy. He doubted many of his contemporaries would admire him for being so totally besotted with a woman and a little girl. He couldn't have cared less.

He glanced at the clock sitting on the wall shelf; it was almost 7:35. Thoughts of Grace and Annie had kept him occupied for far too long. Now it was time for _him_ to get ready. As he headed to his rooms to change, he found himself wondering again just what Grace's dress looked like.

CHAPTER 2

The party was in full swing by the time Warbucks started down the last flight of the stairs leading to the main hall. Neither Grace nor Annie was in sight, so he began to make his way outside to the main party area, hoping to catch one of them. He glanced at the veranda and knew immediately that Annie was going to love this party. There were jugglers flipping bowling pins and bottles of champagne, along with clowns riding unicycles. A fire breather walked around, occasionally startling guests with hot gusts of flame. Even a full grown elephant wandered the grounds providing a ride to anyone brave or agile enough to climb onto her back. The entire outside of the house was outlined in bright cheerful lights and banners. People everywhere were enjoying the festivities, including several of Annie's orphan friends, who each had a handful of cotton candy. He still couldn't see Annie, however, and was about to plunge headlong into the celebration when he heard voices behind him coming from the direction of the dining room.

"But every time we set out the food there, the elephant tries to eat it!"

Warbucks heard the distinctive voice of his secretary comment in a harried manner. "So tell the handler to control the elephant. Surely he can take her to another part of the grounds away from the food."

"He did that already."

"So what's the problem?"

"Miss Farrell, have you ever tried to control a full grown elephant who has decided that she wants the vegetable platter?"

That gave her pause, and Oliver heard Grace give a low chuckle. "I can't say that I have." She moved into the main hall, walking in Warbucks' direction, but stopped short of coming into view, obviously thinking of a solution. "I know Annie would love to see the elephant. She's showing her room to a few of her friends and she'll be down in a minute." After another quiet moment, she decided, "If the elephant can't behave after Annie sees her, then tell the handler to return her home."

"Yes, Miss Farrell." The servant moved away to deliver the instructions to the handler.

Well, that answered the question of the whereabouts of his daughter, Oliver mused. He'd wait here for her. In the meantime he'd try to snatch a moment alone with Grace. She'd started walking again and he could hear her mutter, "I never thought I'd have to deal with an elephant!"

Oliver was smiling at her comment when she rounded the corner and caught sight of him standing by the table near the entryway.

"Oliver! There you are. I was just about to send someone to find you. The president is due to arrive in about five minutes, and…Oliver? Are you alright?"

Warbucks hadn't moved from his position by the table. He just stood there, staring, once again struck dumb by the figure before him. Annie had been right. Grace was…was…, "You're stunning," he said softly once he could speak.

Grace blushed a light pink, her eyes glowing with affection. "Thank you." She glanced down, slightly overcome. Was she ever going to stop feeling so tingly around him? She forced her gaze back to him. "I was hoping you'd like it."

He still hadn't moved. "Like it? I can't seem take my eyes off you." The dress, made of white satin, just barely rested on her shoulders, the sleeves cascading to her elbows. It left a broad expanse of her chest bare, then came together demurely at the cleft of her breasts, set off with a beautiful cameo. Three strings of pearls draped around her neck turned her eyes almost luminescent.

She smiled broadly at his assessment. "So, does it knock your socks off?"

Oliver slowly approached her, his gaze leisurely travelling over her from head to foot. "I'll say. Annie has good taste."

As he got closer, Grace's smile faded slightly while her breathing became deeper. Quietly she asked, "Does it make you want to peel it off me?"

He was now toe to toe with her, looking directly into her eyes. "Oh, yes," he nodded, his voice low. Then he kissed her, deeply, forgetting everything but her.

Grace wrapped her arms around him, tugging him closer, wondering how she had ever made it through a day without his caresses.

What seemed like hours later, completely breathless, they parted. Only then did the noise of the party intrude on them as they attempted to regain their composure.

"Wow," Grace sighed in rapture. "I guess you do like it."

Oliver kissed the tip of her nose. Before he could say anything, Punjab entered the room from outside.

"Sahib, President and Mrs. Roosevelt have arrived," the giant man rumbled.

Without looking away from Grace, he said, "Thank you, Punjab. I'll greet them shortly."

As Punjab withdrew, Grace, still a little unsteady, shook her head. "I'll greet them, you wait for Annie. Tonight she deserves your undivided attention." She stepped back to let him go, but Oliver stopped her.

"You both will always have my undivided attention," and he kissed her once more, quickly, then released her.

She felt like telling him not to make promises he couldn't keep. Instead she laid her hand on his cheek and whispered, "I'll see you later." Giving his hand one last squeeze, she pulled away and headed outside.

CHAPTER 3

The party was a great success. Annie had a ball, thoroughly enjoying everything with the zeal only a ten year old can exhibit. She learned to ride the unicycle, Oliver and the circus performer holding her hands to keep her steady. She juggled three balls, but couldn't keep her arms moving fast enough to catch the bowling pins. She gave it her best shot though, and howled with laughter every time they went flying, one landing in the president's lap. Oliver drew the line, however, when she wanted to swallow a burning torch and blow fire. She ran around with her friends and convinced them all to ride Tarra, the elephant, unaware of the problems she'd been causing the caterers and thus Miss Farrell all evening. She danced nearly every song with her new daddy and stayed within a few hops of him all night. Occasionally Grace, who was kept quite busy keeping everything running smoothly, swung by, grabbing a hug and kiss from Annie and her daddy.

Halfway through the party, Mrs. Greer informed Oliver that Miss Farrell wanted to see him on the opposite side of the veranda. He glanced in the direction Mrs. Greer was pointing and saw Grace speaking with a couple he didn't recognize. He told Annie he'd be back in a moment and strolled over to his fiancée, who smiled as he approached.

With a wave of her hand, she indicated the man and woman standing with her. "Oliver, I'd like you to meet my parents, Kieren and Ava Farrell. Mom, Dad, this is Oliver Warbucks."  
Oliver formally shook hands with both her parents. "Grace told me she'd invited you. Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"Oh, thank you for inviting us," Grace's father said deferentially. "We were most surprised when Grace called us this morning, asking us to join you." He glanced at the splendid facade of the house. "Your house is most impressive."

"And beautifully decorated," her mother chimed in. "This is quite a celebration!"

"Grace truly outdid herself on this one," Oliver agreed, "especially considering she only had upwards of twelve hours to throw it all together."

Ava looked at Grace in surprise. "You arranged all of this just today?"

Grace gave a lopsided smile. "We planned it rather spur of the moment, late last night after everything died down a bit," Grace explained, "but I didn't do it by myself; the staff helped immensely."

Oliver turned to her in mild admonishment. "Don't sell yourself short, Grace. You organized almost all of this, and you know it."

Grace smiled, pleased at the compliment. "It's come off rather well. Annie seems to be enjoying everything. We'll probably never get her calmed down enough to go to sleep tonight!"

Kieren looked around the throng of people, searching for the now famous orphan Warbucks had just adopted. "Yes, where is the little girl? That was quite a harrowing adventure you went through last night. We read all about it in the Times this morning."

Oliver turned in the direction he'd come from. "She was trying to convince Eleanor to ride that blasted elephant. She wasn't having much luck when I left."

"Oh, I bet Mrs. Roosevelt will be game for something like that," Grace laughed appreciatively. She felt Eleanor was the true adventuring spirit of the pair, and was often overshadowed by her famous husband. Grace could never decide if that bothered the first lady or not. She fancied Mrs. Roosevelt rather liked being on the sidelines; she could accomplish more things quietly that way, with no one objecting until the matter was said and done and it was too late to do anything about it.

Ava gaped at her daughter. "Do you mean President and Mrs. Roosevelt?!"

Grace nodded smoothly. "Yes. I can introduce you if you'd like. I'm sure they'd be happy to meet you."

Ava looked to her husband, astonished, wondering when their daughter had become so familiar with the ruler of the country.

Before her parents could decide one way or the other on meeting the president, Grace hurriedly spoke, "However, first there is something I'd like to tell you, and why I asked Oliver over. After all, this concerns him too." She turned to Oliver with a question in her eyes. "May I?"

Initially a little confused as to what Grace was referring to, it finally dawned on him what she wanted to announce. "Oh, yes! By all means!" Smiling, he grabbed her hand and wrapped it around his arm.

Suddenly nervous, Grace didn't know how to begin. "I guess the best way to break the news is to just say it. Mom, Dad, Oliver and I are getting married."

Her parents both looked at her in total, silent shock. Ava's eyes darted back and forth between her daughter and Warbucks. Feeling as though she couldn't have heard correctly, she finally asked, "What do you mean, getting married?"

Grace gave a short laugh. "What it usually means, Mom. We're engaged."

"Are you serious?" Kieren blurted, thinking his daughter had lost her mind to even suggest a romantic involvement with someone like Oliver Warbucks. What about Grace could possibly interest a man like that?

Grace, becoming slightly annoyed at their disbelief, archly stated, "Of course we're serious."

Ava obviously didn't know how to react. She opened her mouth and closed it twice without saying anything. "This is so…sudden," she finally imparted, inwardly moaning over what people would say regarding this development. She'd always felt no good could come of the peculiar living arrangements Grace shared with her boss, a man that probably always got what he wanted, exactly when he wanted it. And now, out of the blue…. Her expression changed from one of amazement to consternation. Her brow puckered, she leaned closer to Grace and, with her voice lowered, demanded, "Are you pregnant?"

Grace lurched back as if she'd been struck. "What?! _NO!_" Completely stunned, she asked, "Mom, how could you even think…?"

Oliver laid a calming hand on Grace's arm, halting her outburst. "Grace, allow me."

She turned to him, her eyes wide in anger and laced with hurt. She stared at him for several seconds, alternately considering both him and her parents, weighing his request against her anger. She eventually gave a curt nod.

Oliver allowed himself a quick moment to gather his thoughts and, more so, to tamp down the aggravation he felt towards Grace's parents, particularly her mother. Jaded as he was, their reaction took even him by surprise.

"Mr. and Mrs. Farrell," he began, sounding far calmer than he felt, "I assure you mine and Grace's relationship has always been purely professional and I want to alleviate any concern you have on that point. I have nothing but the highest respect for your daughter." He paused, glancing at Grace, his expression becoming serious. Quietly he continued, "But the truth is I'm profoundly in love with Grace, and have been for quite some time. It took Annie to make me see that and to realize how very important she is to me. Wholly astounding to me is that Grace feels the same. She's truly an amazing woman, and I want to spend the rest of my life making her happy."

Oliver's confession was met with absolute astonishment from Kieren and Ava. Grace stared at him, speechless. She drew a shaky breath, emitting a sigh that seemed to come from the center of her soul. "I love you," she breathed. He reached up and reverently cupped her cheek as if he was holding something holy. After several heartbeats he returned his attention to Grace's parents.

"You have my word that Grace will want for nothing, but more than anything she'll have my love and admiration for the rest of my life."

Feeling overwhelmed, Grace could barely squeeze her words around the thickness in her throat. "That's all I've ever wanted."

Oliver gave her a soft smile, and secured her hand more tightly to his arm. "Now I think it's high time we gave Annie her new locket. Mr. and Mrs. Farrell, I'm sure we'll be seeing each other often in the near future. Until then, good night."

With that, he led Grace across the lawn toward Annie, who was romping with Sandy, Molly and Pepper. Halfway there, Grace pulled him to a stop, a grateful look on her face. "Oliver, that was.…"

"That was the truth," he interrupted. "Don't ever believe otherwise." He kissed her lightly on the temple. "Let's go see our daughter."

Grace rewarded him with a brilliant smile, and they made their way to Annie as fireworks broke across the night sky.

CHAPTER 4

"That was the best time I've ever had!" Annie enthused as she climbed into bed. "Did you see the fireworks, Daddy Warbucks? They were the hugest, bestest thing I've ever seen!"

Warbucks chuckled from his place on the edge of her mattress. "They were quite large, weren't they?" He too had thoroughly enjoyed the party. With the exception of that uncomfortable conversation with Grace's parents, it had been a rollicking good time. He hadn't had that much fun in years. Mostly he felt great satisfaction in watching Annie's joy of it all. Like everything she experienced, she'd participated in the party with great gusto. How she could have grown up so happy and cheerful in that horrible orphanage he still didn't understand.

Grace approached them from the direction of the bathroom. "Here's your water," she said, and handed Annie the glass she was carrying.

"Thanks, Miss Farrell." Annie gulped down the entire contents without taking a breath, then set the glass on the nightstand. Her face grew thoughtful as she regarded Grace. "Miss Farrell, since you're marrying Daddy Warbucks and that'll make you my mom, can I just call you mom now?"

Grace's smile lit up her face like the sunrise "I'd like that very much, Annie!" and she leaned over and gave Annie a hug and a kiss. "And now, for the first declaration as your mom, I say it's time for bed!"

Annie quickly jumped into Oliver's arms and gave him a long hug, then clamored under the thick covers of her bed. She fell victim to a huge yawn as she settled down with Sandy lying next to her. "G'night, Mom. G'night, Daddy Warbucks."

"Goodnight, Annie. We'll see you in the morning." Oliver patted Sandy on the head one last time as Grace turned out the light, then followed her out the door into the hallway.

She took his hand as they slowly ambled toward her rooms. "Oliver, Annie was right; that party was a lot of fun."

"It was a bit different than the normal dinner party where the guests are all over the age of 40." Oliver smiled and gave her hand an affectionate squeeze. "And I meant what I said earlier. You did an amazing job with it. Once again, I wonder what I would do without you."

"You'd have an empty vegetable tray and a fat elephant."

Oliver laughed heartily, and slipped his arms around her as they came to her bedroom door. Smiling, Grace pulled him into a close hug until his laughter subsided enough for her to kiss him.

They'd kissed several times during the party, but they were only quick, chaste pecks on the lips. Nothing that could be construed as passionate or inappropriate. Now Grace let go of everything she'd repressed all evening, pressing close and deepening the kiss until her heart was pounding against her ribs.

Oliver broke away first and rested his forehead against hers, his breathing ragged and heavy. Quite a few seconds went by before he was able to say, "If I don't leave now, I doubt I'll be able to at all."

Grace ducked her head, hiding her disappointment. She hadn't realized how much she'd secretly been looking forward to this part of the evening until it became evident that Oliver was going to say goodnight and retire to his own rooms. She was surprised at how she felt, but she didn't examine it as she covered her regret with a tiny smile and a nod. He kissed her forehead one last time, murmuring gently, "Good night, Grace," and turned away, determinedly walking down the empty corridor.

She felt her body instinctively try to follow before she checked the movement. Closing her eyes, she took a deep breath and told herself to go into her room. Instead she opened her eyes, watching as he moved farther away. She found herself involuntarily taking two steps in his direction and with no further thought uttered brokenly, her voice thick, "Oliver, don't go."

Oliver stopped and turned. The raw desire he saw etched on her face hit him so hard he couldn't breathe. His firm resolve fled in an instant. He was beside her before he even knew he'd moved. None too gently he kissed her, passionately, deeply, aware on some level that he was probably bruising her lips, but wholly unwilling to stop.

Wrapping her hands into the lapels of his jacket, Grace pulled him to her bedroom door, opened it, and without parting they crossed the threshold, Oliver closing the door with his foot. Once inside the privacy of her suite, she pushed his jacket off his shoulders and down his arms, letting it slide to the floor. She made quick work of his tie and cummerbund and they too fell to the floor in a heap. She moved on to the buttons of his shirt.

Oliver pulled away from her mouth and trailed hot kisses down her neck on to her shoulder, drawing the sleeve of her dress down, desperately trying to expose as much skin as possible. He heard a stitch break, then another as the material started to give way under his insistent desire. With a huge effort, he stopped plundering her shoulder, gasping, "Grace, if we don't slow down I'm afraid I'll tear your dress."

Grace, thinking she didn't care if he tore her dress, just as long as he got it off her, gave an impatient tug at a particularly stubborn button on his shirt. As if on cue, the threads broke. It popped off, and, arcing through the air, landed with a ping on her nearby desk. She watched it fall, covering her mouth in slight horror and surprise.

He glanced at the button, then at her. "Case in point," he murmured affectionately.

"Oliver, I'm sorry," she laughed lightly, embarrassed. "I'll sew that back on."

Looking her full in the face, he said in a low voice, "Grace, we have all night."

A jolt of desire sliced through her at the implication of his words. Trying to calm her racing heart, she replied, "I know." Dropping her gaze to the floor, she took another deep breath. "It's just that I feel if I don't hurry and keep moving, I'll open my eyes and find that none of this is real."

"Oh, Grace." He pulled her close against him so she could hear his heart beating strong under his shirt. He placed his hands on both sides of her face and gently forced her to look at him. "I love you," he said earnestly. "I'm not going anywhere. And right now I'm going to make love to you, _slowly_, until you are incoherent."

Another jolt of desire raced through her and she let out a low groan that came from somewhere deep inside. She reached up and, covering his hand with hers, deliberately guided it to the zipper hidden on the side of her dress. He slowly and summarily began to peel it off her.

* * *

Much later, Grace stretched languidly, and lazily rolled her head to look at him lying next to her on the bed. "Oliver, will it always be like that?"

"Lord, I hope so!" he answered fervently, still trying to catch his breath. "But probably not," he admitted. He noticed her rather crestfallen expression at his response. "We can always try, though." He raised his eyebrows, looking at her pointedly.

She laughed and playfully swatted at his arm. "Just keep a good supply of buttons on hand!"

"I think I can manage that," he smiled as he lightly rubbed her hip.

A few strands of her hair tugged painfully against the pins still holding what was left of her upsweep in place. "Is my hair the train wreck I think it is?"

He surveyed the mass of dark curls wildly framing her flushed face and knew he'd never seen anything more beautiful in his life. He reached out and gently brushed the curls away from her eyes. "Personally I adore it, but I doubt you'd find it your usual picture of neatness and efficiency."

She gave a low chuckle. "Given our situation, that can only be a good thing. However, it's starting to hurt. I'm going to have to take it down." She levered herself to a sitting position and shook her head, causing several more strands to cascade out of the pins.

Oliver softly grasped her arm, halting her move to get out of bed. "May I?"

"You want to take down my hair?" she asked in amazement. This relationship was bringing one surprise from him after another.

"It will be a new experience for me," he shrugged with a smile, referring to his own lack of hair. "Besides, I'm curious as to how this was constructed." He sat up beside her and started to examine the intricate rolls. Some of the decorative beading was still in place, and he carefully pulled a few out, unsure of exactly how much force he should use.

"I wish I could take the credit, but Mary came in tonight with Annie proclaiming she had this great new hairdo she wanted to try on me. I honestly have no idea how she did it."

"Give her my commendations." He began pulling pins out, moving aside the hair that fell in their wake so he could see what remained.

"I won't tell her how it came down." She threw him another grin over her shoulder, her eyes twinkling.

"A wise precaution," and he reached down and kissed her shoulder. After a few moments of concentrated silence centered on her hair, he broached a subject that had been on his mind during the latter half of the evening. "Grace, it occurred to me after I met your parents that I know absolutely nothing about your family."

Grace groaned and closed her eyes at the memory. "After their fabulous first impression, I'm surprised you're interested in knowing the rest of them."

He had to agree with her assessment, but only said, "It rather troubles me that we're engaged and yet I know so little about you personally."

Grace smiled at that, amused that the Wall Street tycoon Oliver Warbucks would so casually admit to what he had to perceive as a gross disadvantage. "There's no great mystery or secret drama. My life's pretty much an open book; a relatively uninteresting one. I'm pretty boring, actually," she groused.

Oliver placed his hand on her cheek and gently pulled her head around so he could look her straight in the eye. "Not according to what I just experienced," he said meaningfully, causing her to blush a deep scarlet. He found her continued shyness in the wake of their intense passion incredibly endearing. "You're beautiful, do you know that?"

She turned a deeper shade of red. "You certainly make me feel that way," she whispered on a sigh. She looked down and cleared her throat self-consciously, trying to find her voice to continue her narrative. "Actually, if you know the history of my family, Mom and Dad's reaction might make more sense to you."

She turned away from him so he would be able to finish removing the hairpins while she talked. "My parents married pretty young; Mom was only 18. My dad was already involved in what later became the family business."

"Which is?"

"Hardware merchant. Before I was born, he bought out the owner he was working for and started Farrell's Hardware and Implements in Inwood. That's where I grew up."

"A good Irish community," Oliver noted.

"A rather isolated Irish community that still follows the old ways a little too closely in my opinion, but it was a good place to raise a family, so my father always said. And they started that right away. Ten months after they got married, my older brother, Henry, was born, who was followed a year later by Patrick."

"How many Farrells are there?" Oliver asked curiously.

"Five. My sister, Barbara Ellen, came two years after Patrick." Grace shifted on the bed so he would have easier access to the other side of her head. She was struck by how comfortable she felt in his presence, how it didn't bother her a bit that three days ago she was calling him 'sir' and now they were sitting on her bed, naked, and he was playing with her hair!

"So did you immediately follow Barbara?" he asked after she remained silent for some time.

"What? Oh! Sorry, I was thinking."

"About?"

She looked at him behind her, and sighed contentedly. "About how right this feels, as if I've been heading toward this my entire life, to be here now, with you, like this."

There it was again, her openness and total giving of herself. A wave of deep affection surged through him, and he wrapped his arms around her, pulling her against his chest. "I feel the same way, that I'm the luckiest man alive to have you and Annie."

They sat that way for some time, her head resting against his shoulder and his nose buried in her hair. Finally she reached up and kissed his cheek.

"Do I get to hear the rest of the family history?"

Grace smiled against his cheek, rubbing hers along the slight growth of whiskers she found there. "Absolutely. After all, this is the part that gets interesting."

"Ah. The hardware business expands."

She laughed outright. "Spoken like a true industrialist!"

Feigning surprise, he stated, "Were you actually referring to something besides the business?! I'm shocked you'd even consider it." He released his hold on her and she sat up again so he could continue his work on her hair.

"Unbelievable, I know, but yes, actually, I was referring to me."

He chuckled, enjoying their light banter. "Pray, continue."

She kissed the tip of his nose and turned away. "So, my parents had three children, two boys to carry on the business with Dad and one girl to satisfy Mom. The family was complete. Except as time went on, one thing became painfully evident; Henry and Patrick aren't that smart."

Surprised, Oliver blurted, "What?"

Grace shrugged her shoulders dramatically. "Sad, but true. Neither one can barely do more than add 2 and 2 together, and they don't have a lick of common sense between them. Dad was most distressed at the idea of leaving the operation of the business that he'd worked so hard to build to the two biggest goof-offs he'd ever known. Even at the young age of 11 and 12 it was obvious Henry and Patrick weren't going to be the ideal business partners."

Oliver then asked the obvious question. "What about Barbara?"

"Oh, unlike my older brothers, Barbara's quite smart. But there was one thing wrong with Barbara that Dad just couldn't overlook." At Oliver's raised eyebrows, Grace announced, "She's a girl."

When she didn't continue, Oliver leaned over her shoulder and said, "I'm sure I'll feel like a fool when you tell me, but why was that a problem?"

"Because girls in good Irish, Catholic families are supposed to get married and have children, not run a hardware business."

"Ah," Oliver sat back, nodding in understanding. "I see the problem."

"Yes, you can imagine the plight Dad was in. He knew if he left the business to his sons they'd run it into the ground within a year, and the daughter was out of the question. So he discussed the issue with Mom, and together they decided their only course of action was to have another son and hope he was a bit brighter than the first two."

She again grew silent, so Oliver encouraged, "And?"

Grace lost the irreverent tone that had accompanied the recitation so far, and quietly imparted, "And they got me."

Oliver paused, hearing the note in her voice. He carefully said, "You sound like that was a disappointment."

"It was," she admitted. "I was just another girl. Years later, during an argument, Barbara told me that Mom was so upset when I was born she cried. She didn't mean it personally; Mom didn't like the process of having children, and I guess the thought of needing to go through it all again solely because I wasn't a boy was almost too much for her." She sighed sadly. "But for Dad's sake, she got pregnant again as soon as she could, and John was born only thirteen months after me. That's a lot to go through just to have someone to leave a hardware store to," she concluded, wondering if her father ever realized what her mother had sacrificed for that purpose. She doubted it.

Oliver noticed the sadness that had settled over Grace, and not knowing what to do to alleviate it, stopped fussing with her hair and simply hugged her.

Roused out of her reverie, Grace smiled and leaned into him. "Luckily for everyone involved, notably my mother, John turned out to be just shy of brilliant with an easy going, affable manner that makes everyone instantly like him."

"A perfect person to run a mercantile store, in other words."

Her smile grew. "Yes, and lucky for John, he seems, quite literally, to have been born for it. Henry is still with the business, but Patrick took off on his own and works in a factory. Barbara got married like a good Irish girl should, and Dad renamed the store Farrell and Sons, relieved that he no longer needed to worry about its disposition after he retires."

She stopped, as if that was the end of the story. But there was notably a large part missing, and Oliver moved to sit facing her, gathering her slim hand between his. "Grace, did your parents neglect you in favor of John?"

"No!" she shook her head, immediately allaying his concern. "No," she reiterated firmly, "at least not in the traditional sense. Ignored is a more accurate term," she clarified. "Now that I'm saying it out loud, it sounds truly pathetic, but I was more the unuseful child. I was the second girl and years younger than Barbara, so she got a lot of the female attention, and I wasn't a boy, so served no true practical purpose for Dad. I was just…there, always in John's shadow. Which bothered John to no end. We're actually quite close, like two peas in a pod. Even when he was young, he could feel the disproportionate interest, although he didn't understand why. He kept pushing me forward while we were in school, saying things like 'Yes I got an A on my history test, but Gracie got an A+ in math, isn't that great?' I finally told him to stop because it was embarrassing. And it didn't make any difference. Dad just wasn't interested. I honestly think he believes educating females is a waste of time since they're just going to marry and keep house." She threw her free hand up in exasperation.

"But you didn't marry," Oliver stated the obvious, then quickly corrected, "or not yet."

Grace smiled. "No, not yet," she teased, and kissed him soundly.

Oliver snatched another kiss before he added, "So how did you end up here, working for the tyrant Oliver Warbucks?"

"You aren't a tyrant."

"Yes I am, we both know it, and I'm ordering you to answer the question while I finish your hair." He let go of her hand and returned to his position behind her, taking out the few remaining pins. He ran his fingers through her hair, loosening the last of the upsweep so that her hair fell to her shoulders in tangled waves.

"Oh, that feels good," Grace groaned.

"I've wanted to do this all evening," he professed. "I'm rather fascinated by your hair."

Grace giggled softly. "I'm learning all sorts of things about you today." Harkening to her usual organized self, she began ticking things off on her fingers, starting with her pinky. "You love a good circus, you'll let Annie eat whatever she wants, you're a wonderful dancer, you like to flirt, and you can't keep your hands off my hair."

"No," he immediately corrected, "I can't keep my hands off _you_. Your hair is part of the package. And you're changing the subject," he said in admonishment as he continued to thread his fingers through her hair. "How _did_ you end up here?"

Grace sighed once more in pure pleasure before she renewed her tale. "All through high school I worked in the store keeping the books."

Oliver interrupted, confused. "I thought your father didn't want you girls working in the business."

"He didn't. Well, not officially. However, he soon learned that I have a way with numbers, and my two older brothers, especially Henry, often had me checking the daily ledgers after they tallied them to correct their mistakes. Not one to look a gift horse in the mouth, Dad put me to work, quietly, in the back office. I worked through two audits before I graduated from high school."

Oliver stopped his ministrations to demand, "Why haven't you mentioned this 'way with numbers' to me before?" He actually seemed a bit disgruntled, as if a prime business resource had been going untapped for years.

Grace looked at him over her shoulder. "Because I'm not your auditor, I'm your private secretary, and you're interrupting."

He scowled at her, but held his tongue.

When it became apparent he wasn't going to interrupt further, she went on. "When I graduated from high school, I told Mom and Dad that I wanted to go to college to study business. They said they couldn't afford to send me because they had to save for John's education."

Oliver grunted. "Given what you've already imparted, I'm not surprised."

"Neither was I, really, but I was terribly hurt and disappointed. I was feeling quite sorry for myself when I visited my Grandmother Farrell one day that summer, and she blatantly told me to snap out of it, that if I wanted to go to college, then I should get off my lazy arse and go. Those were her exact words, by the way."

"Lazy arse?" he asked, wide eyed. "I think I want to meet this woman."

Grace turned to him with a broad smile, her previous sadness gone. "You'll love Grandmother Farrell! She's amazing. You two actually have a lot in common."

"I take it she doesn't think like her son?" he asked, referring to Grace's father's rather antiquated views of the ability of women.

"Oh no, not at all. I'm not sure where Dad got his ideas, but they definitely didn't come from Grandmother. She's always been my biggest supporter, next to John. I don't know what I would've done without her. I certainly wouldn't have gone to college." She paused, thinking back on her experience. "College wasn't easy. It took me six years to get through, and I was completely on my own. I applied for financial awards and every scholarship I could find, and told Dad he'd have to pay me for my time in the store or I'd be forced to work elsewhere."

"Good for you!" Oliver boomed. "How did he respond to that?"

"Let's just say that I spent my entire college career working for one of his competitors three blocks away."

Oliver's laughter rang throughout the large room. "I don't imagine that went over very well."

Grace chuckled along with him. "Not particularly." She leaned back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her. "Our relationship became so strained that I actually had to move out of the house. I don't think he's forgiven me yet."

_That would partly explain your parents tonight_, he thought. Aloud he said,"You still haven't answered my question. If you attended college to study business, how did you wind up as my secretary?"

She gave a resigned sigh. "I'm still practical, Oliver. The business world is by and large run by men, many of whom share the same beliefs as my father. I took typing and records management classes so that I wouldn't starve once I graduated. I learned shorthand in three days on a dare from a professor who claimed no one could keep up with his lecture pace. He was so surprised with what he called my unique approach that he gave me an A!" She rubbed his arm absentmindedly. "After graduating I got a job transcribing court records for the Burrough of Manhattan, which improved my typing skills. While there, I heard through the grapevine that Andrew Ellison needed a secretary for his law firm on short notice while his own was attending to her sick mother. Although I wasn't particularly qualified, I could keep up with him in dictation, thanks to that professor, and he hired me on the spot. Ellison turned out to be good practice for you!" She reached behind her and touched his cheek affectionately. "I worked for him for five months and learned a lot, about both the legal world and how to be a good office manager. When his secretary returned after the death of her mother, he told me the tycoon Oliver Warbucks was once again looking for someone, _anyone_, to be his private secretary. I came out to the house to interview that same day and here I am," she finished simply.

Oliver laid down next to her and propped his head up with his elbow. "Do you know I hired you because you put yourself through school?"

This surprised her. "Really?! And all this time I thought it was the fact that I could type 120 words a minute."

"Well, that too," he laughed softly. "I admired your determination. I was also impressed that you could keep up with me while dictating. And you acted like I hadn't even pressed you."

"You didn't," she stated bluntly. "Although you have since. I think you've gotten faster over the years," she ended with a smile.

"I'm trying to find your limit!" He laid his free hand on her knee, his expression growing serious. "Grace, I went through four secretaries in six weeks prior to your arrival. Yet you've been here for…?"

"Five years" she answered softly.

"Five years," he repeated slowly, as if surprised at the length of time that had passed. "I know I'm difficult to get along with. My previous secretarial turn-over supports that, if nothing else. I also know I've given you a hard time on many occasions." He looked at her directly. "Why have you stayed?"

She gave him a shy smile and looked away for a second before she answered, "The high salary you pay me aside, I think that's fairly obvious," with a nod toward him, indicating their current situation.

He slowly sat up, his hand still on her knee. "Are you saying you've been in love with me for…?"

"Years," she finished quietly.

Oliver was thunderstruck. He truly had thought Grace's feelings were largely a recent development, cultivated by Annie's heartwarming arrival. What he'd told her parents was true; he had been in love with her for a long time, and his feelings had simply been brought to his attention by Annie. But Grace….

"Why didn't you tell me?"

Grace actually laughed, a low sultry sound that came from deep in her chest. "How do you think you would have reacted if I'd come to you one morning and said, 'Good morning, sir, I hope you slept well. By the way, I'm in love with you, have been for years. What do you say we go off together?'"

"I would have thought you were mad."

She continued laughing. "I adore you, Oliver, but you're not exactly approachable on that level."

"But the other night…."

She shook her head. "What happened the other night was totally unplanned." Her laughter abated. "I've never even considered doing anything like that before." Completely serious, she continued, "I should have been terrified, but I was so caught by the emotions and you were so gentle…it was wonderful," she finished on a rapturous sigh. "All the stories I've heard about 'the first time' don't even compare to how remarkable it really was."

He went completely still, stunned. "That was your first time?!" He'd had no idea. "You were so confident, I thought…. Good lord," he shuddered. He so easily could have…. "Grace, did I hurt you?" he implored. If she answered in the affirmative, he'd never forgive himself.

Surprised, she assured him, "No, of course not. Why would you think that?"

"It's just that, usually, on the first time the woman experiences pain, at least to some degree, and…." Her brow was puckered in confusion and he stopped, completely flummoxed by this turn of events. He was slowly beginning to realize what she'd actually done. She'd not only given herself that night, she'd truly given _herself_!_ A_nd hadn't asked for or even expected anything in return.

He cupped her cheek, mirroring his gesture from earlier. "Grace, do you have any idea what an amazing woman you are?"

She smiled, still confused. "If you want to think I'm amazing, I certainly won't argue, but…."

"You are, and I love you more than I thought I could possibly love anyone."

Not following the jump in his conversation, but not particularly caring, she exhaled, "And I am so in love with you." Her smile grew. "We're just pretty much thrilled with each other, aren't we? It's a good thing we're getting married or the entire staff would be gossiping horribly!"

Which brought up another point he'd been considering in the back of his mind. He brought his hand down to cover hers. "On that subject, Grace, we need to talk about something serious."

_Uh oh_, she thought, her smile fading. _I have the feeling I'm not going to like this_. But she only said, "All right."

He was silent for a moment, choosing his words carefully. "Our behavior the past few days, past few hours actually, has been slightly…reckless," he finally determined. At the abashed look that crossed her face, he hurried to assure her, "Completely enjoyable, mind you, but rather irresponsible. If we keep this up, someone is going to catch on. I won't trade your good reputation for a few hours of pure bliss."

"That's my decision to make, Oliver. If I don't mind…."

"But I do," he interrupted firmly. "I don't want people thinking ill of you for any reason, but especially not one caused by me."

Grace could tell he'd made up his mind and wouldn't respond to an argument on her part. Suspecting the answer, she asked, "What are you suggesting?"

With a sigh he proposed, "We shouldn't be intimate again until after the wedding."

It was as she thought. She grimaced and looked down at their hands, a frown marring her pretty features. "I knew I wasn't going to like this."

Oliver pressed his point. "Grace, Punjab caught me leaving your room the other night." She glanced at him, her eyes growing wide in slight panic. Oliver continued quickly, "Luckily, not only is he discreet, but extremely pleased at our relationship. We won't be censored by him. However not everyone in this house thinks the same way."

Grace's thoughts flew back to Drake and the look on his face when he interrupted them in the office earlier. Not that she wanted Drake and those like him to dictate her actions where Oliver was concerned, but she had to admit that he could make life at the mansion uncomfortable should he have anything scandalous to sink his teeth into. Once again she was reminded of the hypocritical views most of society had of billionaires and their secretaries. For the first time she viewed hers and Oliver's relationship in the light of a horrible melodrama. She could see the practicality of his suggestion, and the conservative side of her heartily agreed with him. But a small voice located in the region of her heart began to wail in protest. After years of sublimation, she'd finally given her deep feelings for him free reign, and was thriving on it! To lose that now after the passion they'd shared nearly brought her to tears. The wedding was three months away. She hadn't been able to last two days!

Her voice thick with emotion, she said, "I don't like this idea at all."

"Grace.…"

"I agree with you, Oliver, I just don't like it." She raised her face to his. "I don't mean to be petulant. It's just hard to be practical when all I want to do is lock you in a room with me for a week!"

That thought actually gave him goose bumps, and he almost lost his resolve. Shoring up his will power, he placated, trying to convince himself as well as her, "It's only for three months, just until the wedding. Then you can lock me away for as long as you like."

She gave him a tremulous smile. "Be careful what you promise; I might lock you away for a long time!" After an extended pause, she consented, "All right, until the wedding. Surely I can do that. After all, I am the efficient and reserved Miss Farrell," she ended with a roll of her eyes and a wry smile. Suddenly serious again, she mentioned, "If it wouldn't totally devastate Annie, I'd say we need to elope tomorrow," referring to Annie's already expressed excitement at being a bride's maid.

"I would never presume to deny you a full wedding ceremony simply because I can't keep my hands to myself. Besides," Oliver pointed out with a slight smile of his own, "we're already well into tomorrow."

In shock Grace looked at the clock beside her bed. It read 5:15. They'd talked almost the entire night. The early staff would start making their way around the house in about 20 minutes. In alarm she said, "You need to go!" She tumbled off the bed, dragging him with her, and started gathering his clothes as she made her way across the room.

He suddenly stopped, pulling her into his arms, pressing against her. His eyes bored into hers, and his voice low and passionate, he reassured, "Not a minute will go by over the next three months that I won't want you."

Desire flared through her once again and like a whimper she moaned, "Oh, God," and she kissed him, desperately, as if she'd never see him again. It certainly felt that way.

Oliver broke the kiss and held her close for a few more seconds, struggling to get his body under control. Breathing hard, Grace finally pushed him away, handing him his shirt. It was going to be a long three months.

CHAPTER 5

The days settled back into something resembling their routine. Grace and Oliver returned to working long hours trying to catch up from the several days they'd spent away from the business while tending to Annie. Oliver didn't like the trend he was seeing in the market and as the week went on his scowl deepened. It was becoming increasingly apparent that he really was going to have to close that factory in Pittsburgh, then another in Indianapolis. As both had been operating on a loss for months, he didn't see as he had much of a choice.

Annie, thinking of the workers that would be on the bread line if those factories closed, tried to convince him to allow the managers some more time to work out a paying solution. Oliver gently explained that he wasn't running a charity service, that business was business and the bottom line was telling him he should have shut them down weeks ago. But Annie struck a chord in his revitalized emotions. To Grace's surprise, he agreed to give them two more weeks during which he'd visit both locations and see what he could do.

In the meantime, it was decided that Annie needed a tutor to bring her extreme lack of formal education to more acceptable levels. She could barely read or write and her math skills were nonexistent. Annie didn't much like the idea of a tutor, but decided she'd give it a try if only to better understand all the business dealings Daddy Warbucks kept telling her about.

She loved watching him work, sitting quietly in the office for hours taking in all the activity as he made decisions that affected the future of entire nations. He was often gruff and business-like on the phone when people didn't conduct themselves the way that would best suit him. In the days it took her mom to find a suitable tutor, she watched his mood sour as he pored over the ticker tape and stock reports. He finally decided there was no chance to save the factory in Indianapolis, unceremoniously closed it down and took steps to sell the property as soon as he could. He spent the hours in the office barking orders and generally harassing his employees until he became quite impossible to be around.

Used to this type of behavior from him during downward financial spirals, Grace weathered the bad mood with aplomb, even when he barked at her. She tried to run interference between him and the rest of the staff when she could, but his dire temper increased until he wouldn't even listen to her.

Thus she was surprised when, late one night, two weeks after Annie's adoption, he slid several sheets of figures across the desk to her.

"What's this?" she asked, curiously running her eyes over columns of numbers.

"The last quarterly production report for the Pittsburgh factory. I'd like your opinion."

She brought her head up sharply, staring at him as if he'd grown two heads. He wanted her opinion? On a business matter?! Not only was this unprecedented for her personally, but for Warbucks in general. He never asked anyone's opinion, about anything, let alone a business venture.

He actually smiled at her reaction. "Go ahead, let me know what you think."

Twenty minutes later she handed it back.

"Well?" he asked simply.

She slid her hip onto the corner of his desk and crossed her arms. With a sigh she said, "The numbers tell me you should close it down. It hasn't operated in the black for four months, and nothing in the market indicates that the demand for steel will increase in the near future."

Oliver nodded in satisfaction. "That's the conclusion I came to. I'll let the manager know that as of tomorrow…."

"I'm not finished," Grace interrupted, arresting his statement and causing him to raise his eyebrows. He leaned back into his chair, motioning for her to continue.

"If you look to the broader picture, it's obvious Europe is becoming more unstable every day. Nearly every country has been rumbling about its neighbors, some pretty nastily. I think military action is in their future at the least, if not another major war. The question is when. American steel companies are folding right and left. If you can hang onto this factory, keep it going, even at a decreased production so it's not such a loss, eventually the demand for steel will increase, domestically if not due to the future war machine. You'll have one of the few factories running, ready to fill that demand. In fact, I'd buy a few more factories, since they're going at reduced value right now, as well as stock pile supplies until the need rises. Then you'll be sitting on a huge corner of the market, with most of the supplies on hand, well ahead of any competitors when European countries start clamoring for steel products for their militaries."

Now Warbucks was looking at her as if she'd grown two heads. He blinked. She'd completely blindsided him. "So you think there's going to be another war in Europe?"

Grace nodded solemnly. "I do."

He regarded her silently for a few moments, finally asking, "Who's going to be the big players?"

"Definitely Germany. Hitler is extremely ambitious, but more worrisome is his charisma. If he can turn that country around economically, they'll be a huge problem. Italy will probably partner with them, likely invading France. England will come to France's aid. The Soviet Union might be involved, depending on how wide spread the conflict is, but I don't know which side they'll be on. As to the Asian countries, they'll have their own agenda, especially Japan."

He silently digested her words. "What do you predict about America?"

She sighed heavily, as if the topic was more than she cared to attend to. "I don't know. It depends on how much Roosevelt is willing to sacrifice; he'd have a hard time getting the country to support another European war. A lot of the population hasn't forgotten the losses from the last one." After a few seconds of thought, she said, "America would have to be directly threatened. I'm not sure Germany will ever be strong enough to do that." She presented a grim face. "However, a war would be a sure fire way to alleviate this depression."

Oliver nodded. "That it would," he mused, as though he'd never considered that option. He stared out the windows at the darkness beyond. After a few minutes he said, "I have to agree with you."

She drew back in surprise. "You do?"

Amused, Oliver chuckled. "Yes, although I admit I wasn't expecting you to say anything like that." He smiled at her, his eyes full of affection. "Don't doubt your analytical ability, Grace. I think you hit the nail on the head. I'm just surprised I didn't think of it." He grew thoughtful again. "The question is, when will this war start, and what does it all mean for the Pittsburgh factory right now?" He drummed his fingers on the desktop. "I don't think it's going to happen in the next five years. That's a long time to keep a losing venture afloat, even if domestic demand rises." After a minute he thumbed through the quarterly report again, looking closely at the production quota. He came to a decision. "All right, I'll reduce its overhead and keep it open. I'll also take your rather radical suggestion and have my agent start looking for some cheap properties to buy." He eyed her wryly. "What I want to know is how I started this conversation intent on closing a factory and wound up not only keeping it operating, but looking into buying more!"

Grace smiled as she leaned closer to him. "Maybe you just needed the female perspective."

Warbucks scowled. "Female perspective, bah! It sounds like I've needed _your_ perspective since you walked through the front door." He pointed a finger at her. "Don't hesitate to offer your opinion whether I ask for it or not. I may not always agree with it, but I'll listen. If I don't listen, make me!"

Grace laughed, pleased with his reception and his compliment. "Oliver, nobody makes you do anything you don't want to, but I promise I'll use whatever methods I deem necessary to at least get your attention!"

"That sounds like fun!" he declared. "I may ignore you just to see what you'll do!"

Enjoying their light flirtation, she responded, "I won't tell you what those methods might consist of, but you can expect my last resort will be to lock you in a room with me for a week!"

Standing, he leaned toward her, his hands braced on the desk. "Do you think a week will be enough time? I can be rather stubborn."

Grace leaned closer to him, smiling coyly, "I'll only need two days. The rest of the week will be spent in…other diversions."

Drifting closer, Oliver parried, "Oh, Miss Farrell, overconfidence is often the first step to catastrophe."

Now focusing entirely on his mouth, she murmured, "Are you saying being locked in a room with me would be a catastrophe?"

He brought one hand up and slowly traced her lower lip with his index finger. "It depends," he answered vaguely.

"On?"

"How many clothes you'd be wearing." Their lips were almost touching.

"I'll leave that up to you," she whispered as she closed the remaining distance, pressing her lips against his.

The phone rang.

Startled, they sprang apart. Oliver sighed heavily. The phone rang again. "Promise me, in this room of yours…."

"There won't be any telephones!"

* * *

The next day Annie officially started school with her new tutor, Mrs. Powell. A young woman of around 25, Mrs. Powell had just finished a two year stint teaching twelve year old boys at a private Catholic school, so she was eminently qualified to teach one ten year old orphan girl. She was enthusiastic, with a lot of fresh ideas. Most importantly, she was energetic, and by the end of the day Grace was convinced she could not only keep Annie engaged, but also keep up with her boundless energy.

_It's a good thing,_ Grace thought as she watched Annie clean up the room Oliver had assigned as "the school room." _She certainly wears me out!_

Mrs. Powell spotted Grace standing in the doorway and ambled over.

"How did it go?" Grace asked with raised eyebrows.

"Very well, Miss Farrell. Annie is extremely intelligent and I think she'll catch on fast if I can keep her focused!" the younger woman smiled. "I predict she'll be ready to start real classes by early next year."

Grace was surprised. She hadn't expected Annie's schooling to come together so quickly. "That is good news! Mr. Warbucks and I haven't even discussed what school she will attend; we both thought we'd have more time!"

Mrs. Powell shot Grace an understanding grin. "Well, you've had a lot on your plate lately. Annie told me the whole story from the point of her arrival. What an amazing adventure! I'm thinking of assigning her the task of putting it on paper before the details get muddled."

"That's a good idea! It would certainly make fascinating reading!"

Annie finished putting all the supplies away and ran up to the two women. "Mom, I'm done. Can we look at pictures of dresses now?"

Grace had promised Annie she could help pick out her wedding dress. Since her father would be gone for the next three days touring the factory in Pittsburgh and looking over some properties to purchase, tomorrow was the perfect day to begin that task. At lunch Grace had suggested they look at some pictures to get an idea of what they liked, or rather, what they didn't, before shopping downtown. She was greatly looking forward to it.

Grace took in Annie's glowing eyes. "Yes, if Mrs. Powell doesn't have anything more for today."

Annie looked excitedly at her tutor. "Just make sure you do the homework I assigned by tomorrow morning," Mrs. Powell answered.

Annie nodded, jumping from one foot to the other in her eagerness to get started. "Okay bye!" She grabbed Grace's hand, pulling her out of the schoolroom and toward Grace's suite, where several booklets of drawings were waiting on the work table.

As she was drug down the corridor, Grace threw over her shoulder, "Thanks Mrs. Powell. See you tomorrow!"

Audra Powell laughed silently as Annie ushered her soon-to-be mother away. It looked like the future Mrs. Warbucks was going to have her hands full with more than her challenging husband! She didn't think she envied Miss Farrell the task.

* * *

Late the following morning Oliver entered the front sitting room to find Annie holding a magazine open for Grace, who was arranging several file folders into his briefcase.

"What about this one?" Annie asked hopefully

Grace paused in her activity to glance at the picture Annie presented. Annie had been showing her pictures of wedding dresses for the last 30 minutes, each one more extravagant than the last. Grace actually curled her lip in distaste at Annie's current choice.

"Annie, that's awful!"

Annie brought the magazine down to take another look herself. "But Mom, it has so many pretty flounces!"

"It sure does, all of which would make me look like I weigh 200 pounds!"

Smiling, Oliver made his way over to them, handing Grace several more folders. "You would look beautiful in anything, Grace." He leaned over Annie's shoulder to view the selection himself. "However, that dress would be far from complimentary."

Grace grabbed the magazine from Annie's grasp and snapped it shut. "You aren't supposed to see the dress before the wedding! It's bad luck."

Oliver straightened, winking at Annie. "That's an ancient myth, Grace. Besides, you aren't planning to choose that one." He paused, raising his eyebrows in mock surprise, eyeing her up and down. "Are you?"

"No, but that's hardly the point," she admonished, noticing his perusal. He'd been looking at her strangely all morning, ever since he first saw her in the office gathering all the files and information he'd need on his trip to Pittsburgh. If she'd asked, he would have told her with more than slight embarrassment that her appearance had thrown him for a bit of a loop.

She was wearing a light green tailored business suit, and for the first time since their engagement, she had her hair up in the roll she'd adopted shortly after entering his employment. Upon seeing her early that morning, Oliver had immediately been taken back to the time before Annie, to the "Miss Farrell" days, as he was starting to refer to those years when considering Grace. He was reminded how business-like and distant they'd been, especially when compared to their warm connection of the past weeks. The outfit made her look prim and efficient, and knowing what he did now of her deep passion, it made him want to get her out of it as quickly as possible! For the hundredth time since they'd made the agreement, he thought not being intimate with her until the wedding was going to be one of the hardest challenges he'd ever set for himself. It was probably a good thing he was leaving for a few days.

He was staring at her again, and Grace handed him the briefcase before the moment turned awkward. "You're going to miss the train if you don't get going," she reminded gently.

Oliver snapped out of his reverie, taking the proffered case and giving her a smile. He dropped down to Annie's level and gave her a tight hug.

At that point Drake and a footman arrived carrying Oliver's luggage, Punjab entered the room to relay that the car was ready, and two maids rushed in to convey a message to Grace from Mrs. Pugh. Already thinking of the reorganization he was planning for the factory, Oliver affectionately tweaked Annie's nose and then strode out the front door, followed by a contingent of people. He was in the car heading down the drive, the factory profile already in his hands when he was suddenly struck by a thought that caused him to lunge toward the Asp in the driver's seat.

"Wait! Go back to the house."

The Asp swung the car around and eased it back into the portico. The Du Pont hadn't even fully come to a stop when Oliver vaulted out and plowed through the front door, bellowing, "Grace!" Scanning the entrance hall, he noted everyone had dispersed and she was nowhere in sight. He shouted her name again, heading up the main staircase for the office when she rounded the corner of the dining room, slightly alarmed.

"What? What did you forget?"

He caught sight of her and sprang down the stairs. "The most important thing." He grabbed her hand, pulled her close, and thoroughly kissed her until her knees were visibly shaking.

He wrapped his arms around her in a long hug. "Know that I'll miss you terribly."

Holding him tightly, she whispered, "Me too." She kissed him again for good measure then drew away.

He squeezed her hand, and with one last touch of their lips, turned and walked back out the front door.

Heaving a long, deep sigh, Grace shook her head and smiled, thinking that being in love was a wonderful thing.

CHAPTER 6

Three weeks later, Grace sat with the Dictaphone headset on, typing the third version of the contract Andrew Ellison, Warbucks' attorney, had drawn up to sell Oliver's fighter bombers to Poland. Polish Ambassador Stanislaw Patek had insisted on a few changes which Ellison had called in just that morning. As Oliver intended to leave for Poland's Washington embassy in thirty minutes, Grace was typing furiously to have it ready on time.

She'd probably typed each version twice, and knew the unchanged passages by heart. So she was hardly paying attention to her work, thinking instead of how much fun she'd had the previous day playing, of all things, croquet with Oliver and Annie.

Having participated often as a boy in England, Oliver was well played at the game, and hit circles around Annie and Grace. Annie caught on very quickly, however, and by the end of their second game was starting to give Oliver some competition. Meanwhile Grace, despite the fact that she could see in her mind the angle of the trajectory the ball needed to go, couldn't do anything right. She just felt…off. Rather used to excelling at most everything she tried, this irked her to no end. Annie squealed in laughter every time Grace's ball flew into yet another tree. Oliver could see how irritated she was becoming and yelled all sorts of suggestions, such as she might do better if she actually opened her eyes when she hit the ball, or perhaps she needed to loosen the pins holding her hair, until all she wanted to do was hit her ball straight at his head! Grace settled for lightly blowing into his ear the next time his turn came around, startling him so badly that he sent his ball right into the nearby fountain. Annie laughed so hard she fell on the ground. Grace's own laughter subsided instantly, however, when Oliver scooped her into his arms and started toward the fountain, saying if he had to go into the water to get his ball, she was coming with him. No amount of pleading on her part or calls of help to Annie changed his course until out of desperation she pulled his head around and kissed him so deeply he actually stumbled. Laughing hard himself, he had to set her down or drop her. Sandy joined the fray at this point, lending joyful barking at the antics of all of his people, finally grabbing Annie's ball in his mouth and racing around the yard, Annie in hot pursuit. All in all, it was a great deal of fun.

Smiling at the memory, Grace put the finishing touches on the signature lines and rolled the final page out of the typewriter. Glancing at her watch, she noticed she had just enough time for one last proof. Something was niggling at the back of her mind, and she suspected she'd made a mistake somewhere. She settled into her chair and started reading. Her mind still wandering, she almost didn't catch the full meaning of the new clause introduced by Ambassador Patek on page 5. Frowning, she read it again.

Although carefully worded, in essence it stated that if Poland was attacked in the next 18 months, Warbucks International would be required to continue to supply the spare parts and ammunition needed by the planes for the duration of the country's response to that attack, or the country wouldn't hand over the final payment. In other words, Oliver's company would have to provide Poland free ammunition for six months longer than the intended year that was stated earlier in the contract. Plus, if they were attacked, the Polish government would determine what the planes needed and Warbucks would have no choice but to supply it, possibly for years, regardless of its use, even if that use turned against the United States itself.

Should all of this come to pass, Oliver would have no choice but to break the contract, costing tens of thousands in lost revenue, to say nothing of the legal fees that would arise.

Ellison claimed he had proofed and approved this version of the agreement. Familiar with his usual diligence from past work experience with the man, Grace knew without a doubt that Ellison would never have approved it in this form. Which led her to believe that he never looked at it, but instead passed it off to a junior partner or even an entrance level associate.

Oliver would be furious when he discovered this clause, not only at Ellison, but also at Ambassador Patek with his veiled attempt to get Warbucks International to bankroll his country's air force indefinitely.

And Oliver had no idea this clause existed in the contract's current form.

Grace leapt out of her chair, heading through the office door, intent on finding Oliver. He was due to leave for the embassy in the next few minutes, with a presidential conference immediately following. She needed to talk to him now, and was trying to remember his last location when she ran smack into him on his way into the office .

"Grace!" He grabbed her by the shoulders to keep her from falling backward, noticing the papers in her right hand. "Is that the contract?

"Yes. Oliver, I need to talk to you."

"Good." Not really paying attention to her, he snatched the contract out of her hand. "I'm ready to leave."

"Oliver, you should know…."

He moved into the room and dropped the contract into the briefcase that was sitting on his desk. "Did you put in the files on Roosevelt's last proposal of the Civilian Corp?"

Grace followed him back into the office. "Yes, I pulled all five of them."

He snapped the briefcase shut. "I won't have time to return here before I meet with Franklin." Grabbing the briefcase and a letter off the desk that he'd been needing to look at, he wheeled around and left the office, heading down the hallway at a fast clip.

Grace had to jog to catch up to him. "Oliver, there's a problem with the contract. I need…."

Reading the letter as he walked, Oliver interrupted, "No, it's fine. Ellison passed it this morning."

"Yes, I know, but he couldn't have actually looked at it. You need to read page five, paragraph three. It says…."

"I know what the contract says. There were only a few small edits in this version."

"No, it's been changed. You need to read…."

Absorbed in the letter, he impatiently explained, "I don't have time to read it, Grace. I said Ellison passed it."

Still pacing him, she began to lose her cool demeanor. "He may have passed it, but he obviously didn't read it!"

"Of course he did!"

Her volume rising as they walked, she argued, "If you'd listen to me, you'd realize that, no, he didn't."

Annoyed, Oliver came to an abrupt halt and turned to her. "I have full faith in Andrew Ellison."

"In this case, that faith is misplaced." She confronted him indignantly. "You'll be making a huge mistake if you sign that contract the way it is!"

His voice held a warning note as he replied, "This isn't your concern, Grace."

Standing her ground, she declared, "Your decisions no longer just affect you, Oliver, they affect both me and Annie, and this contract…."

Oliver's face grew dark with anger. "Don't presume to tell me how to run my business. I've worked with Andrew Ellison for 15 years and of the two of you, he's the one with the law degree. You may soon be my wife, but… "

At that Grace lost the fragile hold she had on her temper. "But I'm still just a secretary?" she asked scornfully. "I don't need a law degree to read English, Oliver. I've typed that contract six times; I know what it says, and it's a far cry from your original intent. Or do you plan to support Poland's air force indefinitely?"

He opened his mouth to retort, but paused as her comment sank in. "What?" he barked.

Grace struggled to keep her voice steady. "Patek added a clause in an effort to get you to subsidize their air force in certain events, events that aren't all that far-fetched. If it's not beneath you to take advice from a mere secretary," she spat, "read page five, paragraph three!"

Still furious, he slammed his briefcase down on a nearby table and pulled the contract from its depths. Looking at her balefully, he flipped to page five and began to read. Within seconds his brow furrowed and he frowned. "Where the devil did this come from?!"

"How would I know. Why don't you ask Ellison?"

Her flippant remark didn't help his sour mood, and he took a breath to address her impertinence when he realized with a jolt that, although in an angry manner, she was simply offering her opinion, exactly as he'd asked her to do all those weeks ago regarding the Pittsburgh factory. Moreover, she was right, not only about the contract, but also about her entitlement to question his decisions. Being questioned by and answering to anyone wasn't something he was used to. For the first time since their engagement he began to grasp what it would mean to be married to Grace. He was not only gaining a life partner, but a business partner. She knew almost as much about his business as he did. It was rather like having someone to watch his back, he decided. She'd always pointed out mistakes like this one. Although instead of confronting him in the hallway, he mused, previously she would have clipped a note on the signature page where he would be sure to see it. A far quieter method, it fell well within the proper etiquette of a secretary, and would hardly garner a thank you let alone the commendation it deserved. He briefly wondered how much money she'd saved him over the last few years catching mistakes just like this one.

Damn. He had a lot to learn.

He gave her a tiny smile. "You're supposed to lock me in a room with you when I don't listen."

Grace blinked, and he could see her anger begin to ebb away. She hadn't expected the argument to end so suddenly. "I wasn't at my last resort yet," she said cautiously. "I still had a few things to say."

"I'm sure you did." His smile grew, then disappeared. "Grace, I'm sorry. I told you to give me your opinion, and the first time you do, not only do I refuse to listen, but I insult you as well."

Surprised at the apology, Grace blinked again, then sighed. "Apology accepted. I didn't need to react so…aggressively." Then she turned away momentarily, propping one hand on her hip and rubbing her neck with the other.

"Say it," Oliver encouraged.

She turned back to him and dropped her arms to her side. "Oliver, bringing me into the loop won't work if you only want my opinions when it's convenient or they don't fault someone you find more professionally acceptable."

_And that_, he thought suddenly, _is where the real problem lies._ Despite her intelligence and her ability, all her life she'd been told she wasn't as important, or as "professionally acceptable," as the next person. First it was her older brothers, then John, and just now his own attorney. Although he hadn't said it, she'd correctly guessed that he still considered her an employee, one whose true talents he was only beginning to discover.

She continued, "I recognize that all of this," and she gestured between the two of them, "_us,_" she clarified, "is still very new, and it's presenting some unexpected challenges." She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I don't know about you, but I'm having a hard time navigating. I suppose it will get easier with time, but I don't know where I stand with you anymore. I used to be able to predict what you would do and say in almost any situation. Now you shock me every time I turn around!"

He couldn't help but smile; she was positively adorable when she was like this. "Perhaps I like shocking you," he teased, then admitted, "In truth, I've been feeling much the same way."

"You have?" she blurted.

"Oh, yes," he said amiably. He sat down on a bench along the wall and gestured for her to join him. "Although of our own choosing, we've been thrust out of our comfortable, familiar roles. Often lately I've been unsure how to treat you. Several times I've asked myself if what I'm about to say to you as my secretary will offend you as my fiancée. Some days it's a rather thin line."

She frowned at him. "What do you mean?"

"I never knew, and I mean this in the most loving way, but you can be a little temperamental."

To Oliver's relief, she laughed. "No offense, Oliver, but isn't that calling the kettle black?"

He considered what he'd said and had to chuckle along with her. "You may be right."

Her laughter subsided as she laid a hand on his knee. "So are you. I have been a little short tempered lately." She frowned again. "Not that it's a good excuse, but I haven't felt well the past week." Before he could voice any concern, she placated, "It's nothing serious and I'm sure short-lived, but it has left me a bit on edge." She regarded him silently for a moment, and emitted another sigh. "Oliver, I'm not trying to tell you how to run your business."

"I know that," he assured her quickly. "I suppose I'm not used to answering to anyone, especially not to someone I've been giving orders to for the past several years. But that doesn't mean that I don't want to have to answer to you." At her confused look, added, "I love having you and Annie in my life in this way. I'm under no delusion that it will be easy, but I'm more than willing to work at it."

She suddenly smiled and threw her arms around him. "So am I!"

He returned the hug. "I must say, I like the way we resolve our issues since becoming engaged far better than the way we used to!"

She pulled back, grinning. "This _is_ more pleasant than 'that will be all, Miss Farrell.'"

He laughed heartily at her imitation of him. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders to pull her close. "So, Miss Farrell, what conclusions have you drawn from this altercation in the hallway?"

-"We're in the hallway because I had to chase you here."

"Very true. From now on, I'll make sure you only have to chase me behind closed doors."

"Oliver," she chided his irreverence.

"So we can argue without causing a spectacle for the staff."

She snorted a laugh and then glanced down the apparently empty hallway, knowing full well that the maids were likely already discussing their conversation. "Agreed."

He couldn't help but continue teasing her. "How you choose to chase me behind those doors I'll leave up to you."

"_Oliver!_"

Unaffected by her reprimand, he continued, "And I promise to at least try not to ignore you the next time someone attempts to underhandedly separate us from thousands of dollars." She looked unconvinced. "I _did_ listen to you…eventually."

"Only after I pointed out what was wrong!"

"Maybe your methods of gaining my attention need some improving," he suggested, a slight smile tugging the corners of his mouth.

"Hmph!" she crossed her arms. "Maybe you should…."

"Kiss you? I heartily agree." And he did, long and slow until he honestly couldn't even remember what they'd been talking about.

Grace held him close for a moment, then pulled back with a surprised expression. "Oliver, did we just have our first fight?"

He returned her surprise. "I think we did." He looked amazed. "We handled it fairly well, I'd say. At least we're still speaking to each other," he grinned. "To celebrate, I'm going to give Andrew Ellison and Ambassador Patek a piece of my mind, letting them both know that nothing gets passed my business partner." He stood, pulling her up with him.

Her eyes wide, she stared at him, stunned. "Oliver, do you mean that?"

He covered her hand with both of his. "Grace, you're a very intelligent businesswoman. It's high time I started treating you that way. However, I still want you to remain my secretary, at least in part, if you're willing. We've never actually discussed it, and I shouldn't have assumed you'd want to continue working after the wedding, but you're the best secretary I've ever had, and…"

He didn't get any further as she threw her arms around him for the second time in as many minutes. "Oh, Oliver, to have you, Annie, and my job in this way makes my life perfect!"

He kissed her cheek and drew back. "We can work out the particulars tomorrow, if you like. Unfortunately, if I don't make those phone calls now, I'll have no hope of getting to Washington on time. God only knows what Roosevelt will come up with if I'm not there to keep him from instituting complete socialism!"

Grace chuckled. "Half the time I think he says he's going to do things just to get your goat." Grace took Oliver's arm and led him back towards the office.

"If it wasn't for Annie's complete adoration of the man, I'd have strangled him by now."

"I imagine the feeling's mutual," she grinned. "Perhaps you should take Annie with you; she has a way of getting people to want to do things they'd never consider otherwise."

"Yes," he deliberated. "However, I've found the person she usually convinces to act wholly out of character is me!"

CHAPTER 7

The following week was a blur of activity. Grace and Annie continued to make wedding preparations, including a fitting for the dress Grace chose. Annie whistled appreciatively the first time she saw her mom in the floor length gown. Made of white satin, the wide-set cap sleeves and Queen Anne neckline exposed the pale, rosy hue of Grace's skin perfectly. Draped strings of tiny pearls off the sleeves and along the bodice gave it a delicate air while the rest of it hugged her in all the right places. The short train made the dress fit for a queen, in Annie's opinion, and she begged her mother to do away with the traditional veil and opt for a sparkling tiara instead.

"I'm not royalty, Annie!" Grace argued.

"You sure look like it," Annie rebutted.

Headgear notwithstanding, Annie was completely entranced with how beautiful her mother was. Too young to realize, Annie attributed Grace's beauty to the dress, when actually it came from within, triggered by her innate happiness. She practically glowed.

Grace knew it was simply because she was in love, and Oliver had been extremely easy to love the past week.

True to his word, they'd begun to iron out a few of the details of his proposed partnership, and he continued to shock her.

They decided her secretarial duties would be limited to his schedule, dictation and typing his most confidential correspondence. Knowing much of his time would be taken up, at least initially, with getting Roosevelt's Civilian Corp off the ground, he put Grace in charge of the company's domestic seaboard interests, including the Pittsburgh factory and the two he'd recently purchased. Allowing him more time with the presidential staff, as well as his more problematic international concerns, it would enable her to get her feet wet slowly, with the idea he could expand her responsibilities as time went on. The plan also had the unvoiced benefit that any required travel would be relatively close, and Oliver selfishly wanted to keep her as close as possible.

His unheralded trust in her left her overcome. When she asked him if he really wanted to do this, he explained that for some time he'd been thinking the business was getting too large for him to cover effectively, and he could think of no other manager he trusted more to hand a part over to than her. She was more than qualified for the job, and he had no doubt that she could do it. Besides, he continued somberly, there was a very good chance that she would outlive him by a substantial number of years. He'd already decided to leave the business to her to do with as she liked, with a large portion left in trust to Annie and any other children they might have, with her as the trustee. Familiarizing her with every aspect of the company was simply good business. Oh, and did she want to type the will and trust documents herself in order to catch any mistakes Ellison might make? She threw a wad of paper at him, but exclaimed, "Of course I do!"

The only hiccup in the week was the persistent slight nausea she'd been feeling, exacerbated every now and then by a horrible headache. Grace rarely suffered from headaches, and couldn't imagine what was causing these. She finally attributed her symptoms to nerves and the stress of everything that was going on. Admittedly, some days she was wound pretty tight.

The wedding invitations had been sent and she was getting a steady stream of replies. Although the ceremony would occur at St. Patrick's Cathedral, luckily the reception was being held at the house, so at least she didn't have to communicate with a third party for the decorations or catering. She'd planned this type of gathering for Oliver before, including Annie's spur-or-the-moment adoption party, but not one this large or, to say the least, this personal.

She was even making arrangements for the honeymoon, the part of the whole affair she was looking forward to most. The idea of having Oliver to herself for two solid weeks was intoxicating. She'd been so happy and excited over the partnership, that she'd had a hard time keeping her interaction with him on a mostly professional level. And he wasn't making it easy. Lately he wanted nothing more than to spend time with her and Annie, doing everything from visiting the art museum to flying a kite on the grounds. He doted on them, and they both loved it. Little had she known prior to their engagement that he was an awful tease. He flirted with her at the drop of a hat, although he claimed he didn't even realize he was doing it. He made the sweetest little gestures, like having her favorite tea steaming in a cup, ready for her when she walked into the office in the morning. He also had a ribald sense of humor that she quickly learned to anticipate and riposte. They bantered frequently, and her affection for him grew on a daily basis until all she wanted to do was haul him into a secluded room and have her way with him! In truth, she'd been able to think of little else since they'd made that lousy agreement almost two months ago.

So it was really no surprise to Grace when, upon their return home from an impromptu evening at the opera the following Saturday night, she found it difficult to keep a proper frame of mind regarding Oliver. He was very handsome in his tuxedo, and his behavior all evening had been completely incorrigible.

It had started with her entrance into the living room where he and Annie had been waiting prior to their departure. His startled glance at Grace's appearance caused her stomach to flip, and his subsequent perusal as his gaze thoroughly slid over her body caused a deep blush that almost matched the scarlet dress. Annie rescued her from further embarrassment with a resounding approval of the evening gown, chattering happily that not many people could carry off red, and that Grace was probably one of the few non-redheads who could, and just where had she been hiding that dress anyway? Oliver simply took her hand and wrapped it around his arm, not once taking his eyes off her. Grace's stomach did another pleasant flip.

Until the curtain rose, they were both completely absorbed with Annie, who was so excited she could barely sit still. Oliver suggested they let her run beside the car for a block or two just to calm her down. Once in their box seats, Annie peppered the two of them with questions about the opera, quieting only when the lights dimmed and the actors came on stage. From that point she was enthralled with the story, practically falling over the railing, soaking in every note until she thought she couldn't possibly contain any more happiness.

Grace was as delighted watching Annie as she was in the opera and spent a large portion of it smiling at her daughter. She spared a glance at Oliver to find that his attention was focused not on the stage or the lively red head, but on her. She leaned toward him across the back of Annie's seat and whispered, "You're supposed to be paying attention to the opera!"

"I'd much rather pay attention to you," he stated, his voice and eyes full of innuendo, so that warmth spread from her stomach to the tips of her toes.

Slightly breathless, she scolded, "You're not making our agreement easy to uphold."

Oliver looked down and sighed. "You're right," he whispered back to her. "With difficulty, I'll behave." He reluctantly returned his attention to the stage.

After a pause, Grace wrapped her slim fingers around his. With a smile he pulled her hand around and kissed her open palm, her fingers tingling at his touch. He then kept her hand in his for the remainder of the opera.

* * *

"Daddy Warbucks, can we go to the opera again tomorrow night?" Annie looked up at him hopefully, skipping along at his side.

Oliver laughed, wondering how many times she'd asked something similar on the ride home from the Metropolitan Opera House. He smiled indulgently at his daughter as they made their way up the stairs. "Actually, there is no performance tomorrow night. Everyone takes Sunday off."

"Then can we go on Monday?"

Chuckling, Grace chimed in. "Annie, don't you think you'd grow tired of the opera if you went every night?"

"I'd never get tired of the opera! It was great!" She turned to her father when they reached the landing and hugged him at the waist. "Thank you so much for taking me, Daddy Warbucks."

He awkwardly rubbed her back, a pleased smile on his face. "You're welcome, Annie. I promise we'll go again sometime. Now I think it's time for bed."

"I agree," Grace nodded, knowing full well Annie's energy would soon be fading as the excitement from the evening left her, and she'd be as likely to curl up in a chair in the hallway as her bed. "Come on, we'll tuck you in."

Once Annie was snuggled comfortably against Sandy, his canine snores reverberating throughout the room, Oliver and Grace retired to the nearby sitting room where Drake had told them coffee was waiting.

Grace thought the last thing she needed was coffee; she felt like she was about to jump out of her skin as it was.

As promised, Oliver had 'behaved,'only casting covert glances at her when he thought she wasn't looking. But five years spent anticipating her boss' thoughts had honed her instincts regarding him, and she could feel his eyes on her at various times throughout the evening.

_Such as right now_, Grace thought, pouring coffee into a cup. Turning, she held it to out to Oliver, once again catching him with his eyes on her. She smiled when he quickly looked away.

"Oliver, are you trying to drive me to distraction?"

Taking a careful sip of the hot coffee, Oliver looked at her in surprise. "I don't know what you mean."

Grace looked at him in exasperation. "You've been staring at me all evening."

He glanced down at the carpet, slightly embarrassed. He sent her an apologetic smile. "I'm not doing it on purpose, I assure you. I seem unable to help it. Sometimes, like tonight, I'm still…bowled over by you!"

Momentarily stunned, Grace stood unmoving with her mouth slightly open. Then she smiled broadly, absolutely charmed. "I've never bowled anybody over!" she exclaimed in positive delight.

Drinking her in with his eyes, he affirmed, "I find that hard to believe."

Still smiling, she shook her head. "Nope, not one."

His lips quirking, he replied, "If you think that, then you can't have been paying attention."

Deciding to make a confession of her own, she clasped her hands behind her back and shyly imparted, "I tingle every time you enter a room."

He almost dropped the cup he was holding. "What?!"

She shrugged one elegant shoulder. "It's true."

Amazed, he could only repeat, "You tingle?"

She took a step toward him, nodding. "Yes."

"Every time?"

Another step. "Every time."

He set the cup down as she drew nearer. He self-consciously cleared his throat. "Ah…just where exactly do you tingle?"

Taking a deep breath, she cocked her head to one side, then raised her eyes to him. "Everywhere," she admitted.

His heart started beating faster. "You tingle? Everywhere?" She nodded again. He blinked, his mind feeling sluggish. "Just how long does this phenomenon last?"

Standing directly in front of him, she lifted her face to the ceiling, thinking. "Oh, until you start barking orders at me."

Oliver went completely still, then burst into deep laughter. "I'll have to keep that in mind the next time I walk into a room!" Eventually calming, but still smiling, he asked, curious, "Are you tingling now?"

She silently nodded. "Are you still bowled over?"

"Like never before."

"Then I'd say we make the perfect pair."

"Perfect," he murmured right before their lips met. Instantly his hands were on her, sliding down her body on the smooth satin of her gown. His mouth left her lips, trailed along her jaw and onto to her neck, stopping directly below her right ear at a point he knew was sensitive. He was rewarded with her sharp intake of breath.

All innocent flirtation forgotten, she passionately sighed, "I love the way you touch me," and then she was kissing him again, hard, their emotions spiraling until he broke away, gasping.

Their lips were only centimeters apart as they struggled with the tight discipline necessary to keep them from doing exactly what they'd pledged not to. Grace's lower lip began to tremble and Oliver's breathing became more and more labored, outward signs of the effort that restraint was costing them.

With extreme determination, Oliver pulled back, allowing her one more second of rational thought. Resolutely, hoping she would consider their actions, he murmured, "Grace, we shouldn't." If she closed the gap again, he wouldn't be able to maintain the tenuous distance, slight though it was, and keep them both on the path of respectability. Although a small part of his brain mused that their reputations on that front had already been irrevocably damaged, that didn't mean they should continue down that path. Even if Grace didn't acknowledge the very real cost she could suffer should they be caught engaged in illicit behavior, he did. She was already going to experience scorn and condescension from the circle of wealthy elite he associated with due to their marriage. He didn't want her to endure smug glances and whispers behind her back simply because he couldn't keep his hands to himself. A part of him was extremely disgusted at his inability to resist her, as if he was some adolescent school boy.

Grace noticed his hesitation, and stiffened. She closed her eyes tightly, sublimating both the desire racing through her body and the sudden, unexpected gathering of tears. She stepped back, taking a deep, shaky breath.

Oliver saw her reaction, glimpsing the unshed tears before she quickly ducked her head, and sighed. "Grace," he began, but she cut him off.

"Do you have any idea how many times I've come to this point, only to have to pretend you mean nothing more to me than an affectionate…acquaintance? I hate this arrangement!" she ground out through clenched teeth. "I can't even show you how I feel!" Without looking at him, she shrugged out of his embrace, abruptly turned and strode out of the room.

Not wanting to part under such circumstances, Oliver followed her into the corridor, trying to get her to stop. "Grace, I.…"

Without pausing, her hand slicing the air, she again cut him off, her voice rough with emotion, "I just…need a few minutes. I'll see you in the morning." Picking up her pace, she hurried down the rest of the hallway and around the corner, quickly moving out of sight.

Watching as she disappeared, Oliver sighed again. Although his self-proclaimed inability to relate to women had rapidly improved since the beginning of his and Grace's relationship, he had quickly learned that at odd times Grace could be slightly irrational, which surprised him. This was no light matter. They had discussed the very real need to abstain from any further intimacy until the wedding and agreed it was for the best. It wasn't what he wanted, but it was what was needed. He'd thought she understood that. Now he wasn't so sure.

He felt a strong urge to go after her and talk to her, or at least tell her how badly he wanted her. But he knew if she looked at him in the same manner she had after Annie's party, he would be unable to turn away, just as on that incredible night. Best not to tempt fate.

He gave a short, low chuckle as he slowly made his way toward his rooms. It was ironic that he'd been almost celibate for well over a decade with barely a thought on the subject, and now the idea of lasting just one more month without experiencing the heaven that he found in Grace's arms actually made him shake. And to top that off, Grace had been sitting across a desk from him for years and he'd hardly given her a second glance! Bowled over was putting it mildly. He was a strong man and had always prided himself on his iron will, but even he had to admit that the frustration of the self-imposed abstinence was getting to him. He shook his head as he moved down the hall.

* * *

Grace finally reached the sanctuary of her room. Without turning on a light, she made her way to her desk and leaned on the back of the chair, attempting to get her roiling emotions under control. Despite her best effort, tears breached the brim of her eyes and slid down her cheeks. She angrily swiped at them, not knowing why she was crying or even able to put a name to what she was feeling.

She was behaving completely irrationally, and had no right to be angry or upset. Seven weeks ago she and Oliver had agreed this was the right course, and at the time the idea that she couldn't last three months without an intimate encounter with him seemed ludicrous. She was practical, level headed and above all, professional. She saw the necessity for the decision, and agreed with it, for the most part. It was that simple and should be no problem for her. After all, her calm steadiness was almost legendary in the mansion. This should be no different.

But it was. It was very different. She'd never come close to feeling like this about anyone before. Now that she and Oliver were involved, it was as if every romantic impulse she had was careening around inside her completely out of control. Sometimes, like tonight, she couldn't stop herself!

She abruptly stood, wiping away the last of the tears. It was time to stop acting like a lovesick child. Taking a deep breath, she decided action was needed to help her get out of the strange mood she had sunk into. The way she'd behaved tonight, Oliver probably thought he was marrying a crazy woman. This situation wasn't Oliver's fault, and she was grateful that at least one of them had a strong moral constitution. Perhaps she was disappointed that it wasn't her?

She shook her head at that, and moved to the closet to change into her nightgown. While removing the gown and hanging it on the rack, she thought back on their two nights together. In retrospect, she didn't feel disappointment in herself from her previous lovemaking with Oliver, nor did she feel shame. In fact, the experience had left her glowing and so alive that she wanted to dance through the house and giggle uncontrollably. And she wanted to love him again and again, with complete abandon. And that notion was so…opposite of what she'd always believed about herself that she couldn't wrap her mind around it. She'd always been such a _good girl _ that the thought of doing something so sinfully unacceptable was…absurd! Yet she had done it, not once but twice, and had enjoyed it so much it was practically all she'd been able to think about since. It made no sense! She slid her silk nightgown over her head, noticing the sensual way it slithered down her slim frame, and considered the idea that she didn't know herself well at all.

The fact that she felt no shame at her inappropriate behavior shocked her deeply. She'd always assumed if something of this nature happened to her, she'd barely be able to lift her head in public. She'd been raised very conservatively, and outward displays of affection were simply missing from her childhood. As an adult, and knowing what she did now, Grace could hardly believe that her parents had conceived five children. Either they were very circumspect, or their encounters were dry and passionless. As she sat at her vanity and began to remove the hairpins from her chignon, allowing her dark hair to fall to her shoulders, she imagined her parents followed the second course of action. Or lack of action, she thought with a small smile. She was just happy she obviously hadn't inherited the family reservations, in that area at least. She fancied that fact, should it become known, would shock the entire household. Although Grace knew she often came off demure and retiring, she wasn't naturally like that at all. She imagined a combination of her upbringing, her profession and working for Oliver Warbucks had caused her to adopt a certain formality and distance, a style more in line with his than her own.

Then Annie arrived and turned the whole house upside down, Warbucks included. Now, a mere two months later the little girl was his daughter, he and Grace were engaged, and she'd spent two amazing, toe-curling nights in his arms. The quickness of it all made her head spin.

She smiled at her reflection as she brushed her thick hair. Now all she had to do was keep a respectable frame of mind for one more month, and she could act on her impulses as much as she wanted. She mused to herself that by the time the wedding night finally arrived, she'd be so exhausted from the effort of _not_ doing anything, that she'd likely fall asleep and miss it! Or, even worse, she'd be experiencing her cycle, God forbid, and….

Grace suddenly froze, the brush halfway up to her head, ready for another stroke. Her cycle. She'd been so distracted with Annie, Oliver, the wedding and work she hadn't given that a second thought. Especially the fact that she hadn't had one since…well, she couldn't remember the last time she'd bled.

Confused, she set the brush down and moved to her desk, pulling a calendar from the middle drawer. Flipping to the month of June, she sat in deep thought, trying to remember what had happened when. Fairly certain that she'd been on the last two days of her cycle when she picked up Annie on the 23rd, she began counting, and the first fingers of icy chill started to creep up her spine. Disbelieving the evidence before her, she counted again. Dear God in heaven, she'd missed two cycles! She'd never been more than a day late in her life, let alone missing one completely. Then two?!

"Oh, my lord," she breathed to the empty room. Was it possible? Could she be…? The unfinished thought caused her to spring from the chair so fast it fell over, as if the piece of furniture represented the unimaginable. She ignored it and began pacing the length of her room, chewing on her thumbnail, furiously reviewing the past few weeks, looking for any untoward signs or signals her body had been sending her. She compared what she had been feeling with the little she knew of the early stages of pregnancy. After several room lengths she realized she didn't know enough of the particulars to determine if her rather erratic behavior of late could really be caused by a baby or simply having too much to do in too little time. She needed more information. She grabbed her robe and headed for the library.

The house was quiet due to the lateness of the hour, and she thankfully met no one as she glided barefoot down the front stairs, her gown and robe billowing unnoticed behind her. She silently made her way across the expansive main hall and slipped into the large library room.

She loved the library. It was cool and paneled with dark, rich wood, the thick carpet soaking up the sounds of the house. She often came here to escape the bustle of the mansion, imagining the room was soundproof and wouldn't allow anyone to bother her for just a little while. She'd spent many wonderful hours here, enjoying Oliver's expansive collection of the written word, losing herself in poetry and thrilling tales of heroes and daring deeds. It was her favorite room in the house and some of the staff had affectionately come to refer to it as "Miss Farrell's private office." If anyone couldn't find her, they knew she was likely in the library, and wisely left her alone for a few minutes of peace.

But she hardly considered any of that now as she softly shut the door and snapped on the light. Ignoring the shelves of the more familiar classics, she headed to the wall housing the science and medical volumes, quickly scanning the titles, pulling down the ones she thought might be promising. She soon had a dozen scattered on a nearby table, and systematically began to study the information they offered.

It didn't take her long to discover most were completely useless, offering little factual or medical information beyond "a man and a woman lay together and 40 weeks later a child is born."

"These were written in the Dark Ages!" Grace scowled, tossing one hefty book aside to pick up another. Three books later, as her frustration began to turn into despair of finding anything remotely useful, she opened a recently printed medical text and found to her relief that it explained everything in detail, from the placement of the reproductive organs to conception and birth. She read rapidly, soaking in the words, realizing with mounting dread that the two nights she'd spent with Oliver just happened to be during her normal term of ovulation, the most fertile period of the female monthly cycle.

Her eyes slid shut in horror. _How could I have been so stupid?_ her mind screamed in reproach. _Stupid and ignorant. _She read further, cataloging the listed indicators of the first three months and comparing her symptoms. She decided she'd experienced half of them: slight nausea, fatigue, mood swings and, in some cases, headaches. All of which could be caused by a pregnancy or something completely unrelated, like planning a large wedding to be attended by world leaders and financial giants, all in 6½ weeks. However, the combination of the intimacy and never-before-missed cycles was too much of a coincidence to her logical mind. She gave a half laugh, half sob as she considered that Oliver had been right this entire time, even if his precautions had been for the entirely wrong reason.

She sat back in the chair, trying to decide her next move. She could wait and see if her much belated cycle started, or have a doctor confirm her rapidly growing suspicions. The doctor would determine the answer once and for all, but her fear of the stark truth he might deliver caused her heart to hammer in her chest. She broke out in a cold sweat just thinking about it, and quailed. No, she'd take the path of least resistance for now and wait a few days.

Glad to have a reprieve, even if it was a slight one, she replaced all the books on the shelf, noting the title of the best one for later reference, and quietly slipped back up to her room to get some sleep.

Even with the lateness of the hour and her current state of weariness, she lay awake for a long time, her mind too active with the discovery to allow her to rest.

CHAPTER 8

The following week was grueling from Grace's perspective. As Monday, Tuesday, and then Wednesday dawned with no change in the situation, her anxiety level reached heights she'd never felt before. She could barely look at food, let alone eat it, her stomach churning in growing panic. She lost her temper with Annie three times until the girl decided it was best to leave her new mother alone for a while until she wasn't so crabby. And Grace was so distracted that she began making mistakes in her work. Finally, when Oliver read a correspondence Grace had just handed him for a signature that claimed the recipient owed $82.50 instead of the actual amount of $8250, he decided it was time to address the problem.

"Grace, this needs to be redone," he reproached, handing the letter back to her.

She looked up from a pad she was frantically writing on and frowned, glaring at the letter, then at him "What's wrong with it?"

Trying to keep the exchange light, he answered, "Although this letter would make Mr. Moore very happy, I'd have a hard time collecting the $8250 he actually owes on his note, especially if I take him to court, as I expect I shall have to."

She took the letter from him, quickly reading through it. Seeing the mistake he was referring to, her scowl deepened. She wadded it up and threw it into the waste receptacle.

Oliver watched in consternation as, without a word, she moved back to the typewriter, fell into the chair in front of it and angrily wound another letterhead into the carriage.

He'd never seen her like this. "Grace, is anything wrong?"

"No, everything's fine," she bit out, and started pounding on the keys like she had a personal vendetta against each one.

Oliver's eyes grew wide as she muttered a soft, "Damn!" when she realized she'd made a second mistake. Another letterhead, and visibly slowing her typing, she was almost finished when he heard her growl, "Arrrh!" through clenched teeth and saw her actually stamp her foot at yet another misstroke. She yanked the offending letter out of the typewriter without releasing the carriage, causing the paper to tear in half, leaving three small sections still wrapped around the roller. She then had to stand in order to dig them out with her fingers. In the process of doing that, she bumped the advance lever with her elbow, causing the roller to draw her fingers down and behind it, pinching them painfully so she had to quickly reverse the roller with her free hand to get her fingers out, thereby sucking the letter's remnants into the back of the machine, losing what little ground she'd gained on them. When it appeared she was about to heave the machine to the floor, Oliver stepped into the battle and gently grabbed her arm. Although saving the typewriter, the action threw her off balance so she stumbled into the desk, the edge biting sharply into her left thigh.

"Ow!" She grabbed her leg, her face twisting in pain, and silently mouthed a word he didn't even know she knew.

"Grace, calm down."

Approaching the end of her reason, she yanked her arm out of his grasp, shouting, "Don't tell me to calm down!"

Taken aback by her tone and her words, he glanced at the rest of the wide-eyed office team as they watched the normally calm and placid Miss Farrell dissolve into a temper tantrum.

Eyeing Grace warily, he quietly addressed the small group. "Would you mind excusing us for a moment?"

As one, the group rose and filed out the door, Mrs. Brown closing it softly behind her.

Rubbing her leg, Grace heaved a deep sigh, attempting to get her suddenly overblown temper under control.

Oliver looked at her questioningly. "Would you like to talk about whatever is bothering you?"

Knowing he would more appreciate a composed approach, she softened her voice as she tried walking on her leg. "Not really," she grimaced, limping over to the chair next to his desk and gratefully sinking into it.

She was so tired she ached, and her head was pounding. She began rubbing her forehead as he squatted down to her level next to the chair. He placed his own hand on top of hers, giving it an affectionate squeeze.

He took a long, hard look at her, and what he saw rather shocked him. She was pale, dark smudges, partially hidden by make-up, ringing her eyes. The hand clasped in his was trembling slightly. His concern went up another notch. "Grace, you don't look well. Are the wedding plans placing that much of a burden on you? You can use any of the staff you need to help if that would…."

"No, it's not the wedding," she interrupted off-handedly, as if planning a party for 450 guests was an everyday occurrence.

Not to be put off, he asked gently, "What then? I want to help if I can."

Grace stopped rubbing her temple and stared at him intently, caught between the desire to finally confess her fear or wait until she knew something definite. Studying his features, she tried to gauge what his reaction would be. She realized that she wasn't sure, and her anxiety increased even more. She knew she would have to tell him soon, but quickly decided that when she did, she wanted to be sure it was a fact, not a theory.

She dropped her gaze, again rubbing her temple to cover her prevarication. "I just have an awful headache. I'm sorry I lost my temper. Everyone must think I'm turning into a terrible shrew."

Oliver sighed, knowing she had been about to say something different, but had changed her mind at the last minute. He didn't like being evaded, and he'd never experienced it from her before. Something was obviously wrong, something very upsetting judging from how tensely she held herself.

"I won't pretend that I believe you," he finally said, "however I won't press you." She visibly relaxed at that statement, confirming his previous conclusion. Wanting to leave the discussion open-ended, he added, "But I want you to realize that you can share whatever _is_ on your mind with me at any time." She glanced at him again, noticing the concern etched around his eyes, and felt a surge of love pour through her. He was such a caring man, and so few people knew that. It gave her fresh confidence, and for the first time in days she felt a glimmer that everything would be alright.

"I know." Grace laid her hand on his cheek and he leaned into it, noticing how cold her fingers were, which drew his attention back to her pallor.

"Have you had anything to eat today?"

She suddenly paled even more at the mention of food, and drew her hand away to steady herself against his desk. "No, I…I haven't had much of an appetite lately," she stuttered, swallowing past the lump forming in her throat. She decided she needed to get away from him before his good intentions got passed her firm resolve. "I think I just need to lie down for a while. Maybe that will make my headache go away."

He gave a tight smile and nodded his head. "Of course. Why don't you take the rest of the evening off. The staff can finish up here." Standing, he pulled her to her feet, expecting her to start towards the door. Instead, she hesitated, then suddenly turned into his arms, locking hers around his back and burying her face in his shoulder.

"Grace…?"

Interrupting before he could voice his concern, she asked in a trembling voice, "Will you just hold me for a few minutes?"

Stunned at the request, he never-the-less wrapped his arms tightly around her, pulling her close. Stroking her hair, he placed a soft kiss on her temple. "I love you, Grace Farrell," he murmured into her hair. "Whatever it is, we'll work through it."

She took a shaky breath, and nodded. She hoped he was right, and at that moment realized her worst fear was that he would have no use for a pregnant fiancée, and leave her.

CHAPTER 9

As difficult as the previous four days had been, Thursday was absolute hell.

As soon as Grace opened her eyes after another restless night, a wave of dread washed through her. After leaving Oliver the previous evening, she'd decided enough was enough and planned to see Dr. Meier in the morning. Although not her personal doctor, Dr. Meier had been offering medical assistance to the Warbucks household for years, and he could be trusted to be completely discrete. He was also a gruff older man who didn't hesitate to subject his patients to his opinion on a medical issue, whether they were complimentary or not. She wasn't looking forward to his judgmental comments, but she didn't know who else to turn to.

Wearing a light blue dress with a long matching jacket that did nothing to help camouflage the paleness of her complexion, she made her way downstairs and into the kitchen, where Mrs. Pugh took one look at her and shoved a cup of strong coffee into her hands. The older woman wondered how eyes could be so blue and look so positively ill at the same time. Miss Farrell needed a good breakfast to perk her up. But before she could offer Grace anything to eat, Sandy came skidding through the door with what looked like a soggy book clenched in his teeth. He tore through the kitchen as though Satan himself was on his tail, closely followed by his young owner.

"Sandy! That's my math book! Get back here!" Annie screeched, barreling full tilt into the large room.

Sandy, discerning that he was about to be cornered, sought shelter with the first person he saw, who also happened to be the best person to protect him from the red headed girl hot on his heels. He dove under Grace's flowing skirt, nearly knocking her off her feet, and before she could untangle her legs from Sandy's slobbering self, Annie made a grab for the math book. Upon catching it in her strong hands, she jerked backwards with all of her might. Unable to get any purchase on the slick tile, Sandy unwillingly lunged forward, taking Grace out at the knees so that she fell hard on top of the dog, landing right on the spot of her left thigh that had met the typewriter desk the night before. As pain shot through that portion of her body for the second time in less than a day, Grace lost her hold on the cup and coffee sloshed across the floor and Sandy's back. Sandy, yelping in pain as the hot liquid hit his skin, let go of the book, causing Annie to tumble backwards into the leg of a table holding no fewer than 13 steel pans and bowls that had been set there for the day's baking. The table leg buckled under the pressure of Annie's weight, and all thirteen pans came tumbling down on the three hapless victims with a crash rivaling that of Black Tuesday. A particularly heavy one landed on the back of Grace's head, and stars sprang into her vision as Sandy started barking, adding his voice to the din of the still spinning pans ringing through the room.

This was the scene that met Oliver Warbucks as he stood in the doorway in front of Punjab, too dumbfounded to move completely into the kitchen. Annie's face dissolved into tears as she moved to comfort the howling Sandy, and every time Grace tried to stand, Sandy wriggled into her feet, and she inadvertently knocked over another pan until several were again clattering across the room..

"Punjab," Oliver motioned the bodyguard into the melee, while he moved to help Annie control Sandy. Punjab waived his arms smoothly through the air and brought his hands, palms down, toward his waist. The pans immediately settled to the floor, resting quietly until one of the kitchen staff could retrieve them. Grace suddenly felt herself lifted off the floor by someone and gently placed on her feet, where she wavered, still seeing star bursts. Punjab silently moved a chair to her position and guided her onto it, and at the same time The Asp appeared with a towel wrapped around some small chunks of ice and applied it to the spot on the back of her head where the pan had hit her. Grace briefly wondered if anyone would question her if she burst into tears. Discarding that plan as being rather undignified, she then wondered if The Asp could produce another towel of ice for her throbbing leg.

Annie was tearfully explaining how everything had transpired to Oliver, who quietly ordered a tub be filled with cool water for Sandy to soak in, when a strong pang of nausea surged through Grace's empty stomach and she moaned pitifully. Her face grimaced in effort as she used sheer willpower to keep down what little coffee she had swallowed. Slowly sipping air through her clenched teeth, she felt the wave begin to subside slightly when suddenly a dark hand holding a hard peppermint candy thrust itself into her line of vision. Still taking slow sips of air, she raised her eyes to see Punjab, wearing an inscrutable expression as he again offered her the candy.

"Peppermint," his low voice rumbled quietly. "It will help."

Grace stared at him uncomprehending, until one thought lanced through her befuddled mind. _He knows!_ she thought, the shock leaving her numb and speechless. She could only stare at him with wide eyes until he leaned closer and nodded.

She reached out with a shaking hand and took the candy, murmuring a heartfelt, "Thank you," as she slipped it into her mouth.

Oliver, who'd been patting both Sandy and Annie in an attempt to calm them down while waiting for the tub, glanced up in time to see an odd expression of almost terror cross Grace's face as she took something from Punjab. She leaned over then, visibly taking deep breaths, bracing one hand on the chair and holding a towel against the back of her head with the other.

_What the devil is that all about? _Oliver continued to pat Sandy while he turned a piercing gaze on Grace. She looked exhausted, her entire frame drooping into the chair. When she finally sat up and raised her head, her pallor struck him like a thunder clap. As she sat there, eyes closed, doing nothing but breathing, he realized how truly awful she looked.

His attention reverted back to Annie and Sandy as the tub arrived. It took three people, including him, to get the dog into the tub. It seemed that Sandy had had enough liquid for one morning and resisted quite strenuously to being put in the tub. Once he was there, he decided the cool water wasn't so bad and dropped into it like all the air had gone out of his body, splashing water all over the floor, the remaining pots and pans, Annie, Oliver and Drake, who had offered to help just in time to get wet. Annie answered with squeals of laughter, not even noticing that the much fought for math book was now completely soaked. Oliver chuckled, delighted with his daughter's amusement, but glad that not every morning started this way as he surveyed the chaos that had only moments earlier been a very orderly kitchen. The staff, however, seemed to be taking it in stride as they laughed with Annie while cleaning up the mess. His gaze then swept over Grace, who hadn't even opened her eyes at Sandy's antics.

Some of her color had returned, and continued to improve as she sat there. However, Oliver decided whatever she was suffering from had been going on long enough. He stood, swiping as much water as he could from his trousers, ruminating they'd probably never be the same. He walked over to Grace and knelt down in front of her chair, mirroring the pose he'd taken with her the night before.

"Grace, sweetheart."

She opened her eyes at the sound of his voice, and frowned as she took in his appearance. "Oliver, you're all wet!"

He smiled, wondering how she could have missed it all. "Yes, well, Sandy had a paw in that."

At that comment Grace looked around him to take in Sandy, who was still laying happily in the tub. "Sandy's had a rough morning," she agreed with a wan smile.

"I'd say more than Sandy has." Her color had almost returned to normal, but dark smudges fringed her eyes, bringing their blue gray color into stark focus, and her body still wilted into the chair.

Bellying her appearance, her smile grew. "It's not every morning I get taken out by a dog intent on learning basic mathematics." Oliver chuckled as she removed the ice and tenderly felt the lump forming at the base of her skull. Rough morning indeed.

Annie, concluding that Sandy was going to survive the recent activities, left him in Drake's care and scooted over to her parents, hugging Grace's leg with affection.

"I'm sorry Sandy knocked you down, Mom. If I'd a known he was gonna' do that, I'd a never chased after him."

Oliver looked at Annie in exasperation, thinking sometimes her rambunctiousness got the better of her, and subsequently everyone around her. "Why _did_ he have your math book?"

"I threw it down because I was mad at it, and I think he thought I was playin' fetch with him," she answered, shrugging.

"Or taking 'the dog ate my homework' excuse to new heights," Oliver added, fondly ruffling Annie's mop of hair. "But I think the book is done for. I doubt Mrs. Powell will be too happy with that." He stood, pulling Annie up with him. "Why don't you get cleaned up and I'll help you explain to your tutor just why you won't be doing any math for a while." He returned his attention to Grace. "And I'd like you to see a doctor."

At his words Grace froze, the slightly terrified expression she'd had with Punjab returning. For a few seconds she couldn't hear what he was saying until she realized he had no specific suspicions of her condition, only that she hadn't been feeling well. She let out the breath she'd been holding in time to hear him say, "I'd take you myself, but I'm waiting for the call from Ramsay MacDonald."

"Who's he?" Annie asked with a puckered brow.

"The British prime minister," Grace answered. Oliver had been waiting for this call for days. He certainly wouldn't want to miss it.

His solution to that problem caused her heart rate to accelerate. "The Asp can drive you there this morning…."

She quickly jumped in to waylay any help he offered from the staff. She didn't want anyone in the house to know what really might be going on. Besides Punjab, of course. "No, no, that's not necessary, not at all," she said hurriedly. "I have an errand to run this morning for the wedding anyway. I'll just drive myself in my car."

Oliver looked at her curiously, his eyes narrowing in thought. She was prevaricating again, about what he had no idea. But at least she had agreed to see a doctor, and that was the important point he was making. Still, a nagging sensation started in the back of his mind. He ignored it for the time being. "Are you sure you feel up to driving?"

She nodded enthusiastically. "Oh, yes, I'm feeling much better. My stomach was just a little upset, that's all. Punjab gave me a peppermint candy, and that actually helped." She'd have to remember that one.

_Ah,_ Oliver thought, _so that's what that was. Leave it to Punjab!_ "All right, but I'd like you to tell me what the doctor says when you return."

She nodded again. "Of course," thinking thank goodness for the British prime minister!

That issue taken care of, he once again returned his attention to Annie. "Okay, young lady, upstairs and into some dry clothes. I'll meet you in the study."

After one last check on Sandy, who was still languishing in the tub, she bounded away.

"I wish I had her energy," Grace mused, watching her go. She turned to Oliver, saying, "She's like you in so many ways."

"Yes. I admit it's good for my ego!" He pulled on her hands to help her up. "Now I'd better change clothes as well. Be careful, and I'll see you later." He gave Grace a quick kiss, and, still brushing water off his pants, made his way up the back staircase to the upper levels.

Grace's smile immediately dissolved as the weight of her errand returned in full force. She wasn't looking forward to this at all.

* * *

Knowing Meier was a direct sort of individual, when his nurse exited the exam room, Grace got right to the point of the visit.

"Doctor, I need you to tell me if I'm pregnant."

Aware of Oliver Warbucks' pending nuptials with the lady sitting primly before him, Meier's eyes widened in surprise. He rapidly concluded she was here to confirm the suspicion that had gotten Warbucks to propose in the first place. Certainly more than one marriage had occurred for that very reason, but he always imagined Oliver Warbucks to be more cautious, or at least responsible. Perhaps he didn't have all the information.

"All right, Miss Farrell, tell me the particulars."

And Grace did, in her typically efficient manner, all the dates and information he asked for, including the intimate encounters. She felt detached from the conversation, as if she was observing a stranger as she divulged her innermost secrets. It was likely the only way she was able to get through the interview.

Meier nodded when she was done, and asked her to lay back on the exam table and he none-too-gently prodded her abdominal area. "Symptoms?" he asked without looking up.

Grace relayed those as well, her eyes trained on the ceiling, wishing he would just finish. Eventually she heard him issue a grunt and say, "That's all. You can sit up now."

Grace slowly sat upright and swung her legs over the edge of the table. She waited, but the doctor silently scribbled notes on his clipboard, ignoring her. Another minute ticked by and Grace was at the end of her patience with the man.

"Well?" she demanded.

Meier looked up at her as if surprised she was still there. "Oh. Yes, you're pregnant, about seven, almost eight weeks along, I'd say, given what you told me and the size of the fetus."

Grace closed her eyes in dismay at the confirmation of her fears. "What is Oliver going to say?" she rhetorically moaned, bringing her hand to her forehead.

Meier rocked back on his heels, thinking the question was addressed to him. "Well, I've always known Warbucks to be a reasonable man," at which point Grace wondered if he was talking about her fiancé, but the doctor continued unabated, "and assuming that this child is Oliver's…?" he looked at her for verification..

Grace's eyes grew wide in disbelief. "Of course it's Oliver's!" she spat. " What kind of woman do you think I am?!"

"Just being thorough, Miss Farrell," he said smoothly. " After all, I don't know you from Adam. But I must admit, I wondered what Warbucks was thinking when he announced his engagement."

Grace stared at him in shock, thinking the doctor's directness had just crossed the line into insulting. "What's that supposed to mean?" she shot back.

Writing on his report again, he off-handedly commented, "Only that now I understand why the two of you are getting married, that's all."

Grace didn't know if she'd ever been so angry before in her life. Why everyone was so eager to think poorly of her regarding her love for Oliver she'd never understand. Shaking with rage at his ugly insinuation, she slid off the table and faced him, breathing hard. "How dare you! We became engaged _before_ I got pregnant and for far better reasons, not that you'd be familiar with any of them. Now if you think you can keep your personal opinions, incorrect as they are, to yourself, perhaps you can be professional long enough to tell me something useful, such as how do I control the nausea?"

Mildly stupefied at her outburst, he calmly shrugged his shoulders. "Very well. You've lost five pounds, not a great beginning to a pregnancy. I want you to eat as much as you can as often as you can. If you haven't gained those five pounds back in the next few weeks, I'll speak to Oliver," as if she was a recalcitrant child needing a parent's guidance. He didn't notice her eyes narrow at his words and went on. "Keep food in your stomach at all times to calm the nausea, and fresh air should help. And get more sleep; you look like you've been run over by a truck. I hope you looked better when Warbucks proposed. I also suggest you have your wedding dress resized; it likely won't fit by the wedding date." He'd been busy scribbling his instructions on a piece of paper, and therefore didn't see Grace open her mouth to make an angry retort. "And I'll expect to see you after you return from the honeymoon, assuming Warbucks is taking you on one, to see how everything is progressing. As the heir to the Warbucks fortune, this is a pretty important baby after all." He completely dismissed the fact that Annie was actually the heir to Oliver's fortune, something he well knew as he'd attended her adoption party.

Grace realized she'd been wrong a few moments earlier; she'd never been more angry than at this point in her life. She grabbed her jacket and purse. "You'll see me again when hell freezes over, and you won't be touching _my child_, ever!" With that she yanked open the exam room door and stormed out, the nurse calling after her,

"Miss Farrell, what about the bill?"

"Send it to Oliver!" she growled over her shoulder, slamming the door as hard as she could behind her.

Grace shot out of the building housing Dr. Meier's offices, taking deep breaths of the warm, late August air, vainly trying to calm down. She blindly walked along the street as fast as her anger could carry her. _At least that awful man was right about one thing, _Grace thought sourly a minute or so later. F_resh air does help_. She continued to walk until she'd burnt off some of the agitation left over from that horrible visit, and finally sat down on a pedestrian bench, still shaking. Dropping her head in her hands, she ruminated the recent conversation was one of the worst experiences she'd ever endured, however it would probably pale in comparison to the one she'd later have with her mother.

What was truly starting to bother her was she still had no idea how Oliver would take the news. She liked to think he'd be thrilled with the idea of having a baby, although earlier than expected, but they'd never even discussed adding to their family besides taking obvious steps to presently avoid it. She suspected that he often felt overwhelmed by Annie, and was still getting used to her being around. After all, he'd gone through some fairly big changes in an extremely short amount of time, especially for a man like Oliver Warbucks, who liked things the way he liked them, and everyone else can be damned. He might not take kindly to the idea of having another change thrust upon him, especially one of this magnitude.

A glint from her engagement ring caught her eye, and she studied it, turning it until the main diamond captured the sunlight and burst into a hundred sparkles. She smiled, remembering what he'd said when he gave it to her. "This diamond is the one from my cufflink...the one you returned...to remind you that you had my heart that night."

That night. Their first night together was…well, something she'd never forget. She still couldn't imagine where her courage had come from. That she had instigated it was totally out of character, but the only thing she knew was being with Oliver seemed like the most natural thing in the world and she just didn't question it. She loved him, and she was finally showing him how much. That was all the reason she'd needed.

It was an explanation she now doubted anyone would look kindly on, or even believe. Years of working with Oliver had given her the experience that people could get very ugly when large sums of money were involved. Dr. Meier had proven just that in spades. He hadn't said it, but he simply couldn't imagine why a man like Oliver Warbucks, who could have any woman at the snap of his fingers, would want her, truly a social nobody who had little to recommend her but a good education, a strong business sense and amazing secretarial skills. No, he'd have to have a reason, and a damn good one, before he'd tie himself down to anyone, let alone her. Grace was sure the idea of their being in love hadn't entered the doctor's head.

Even her own mother had a hard time believing it. _That_ had been demoralizing, Grace mused; her own mother asking point blank, in front of Oliver, if she was pregnant, also obviously convinced there could be no other reason for Oliver Warbucks to marry her. _Probably for anyone to marry me,_ Grace thought bitterly. Her mother had written her off as an old maid long ago, and had even made a few comments to that effect at holiday gatherings, in that her brothers would have to provide for her in her old age. Grace had acerbically pointed out that, should she remain single her entire life, she would be well able to take care of herself and would be far from needing help from anyone, especially her brothers! But the comment had hurt, and proven that not even her own family took her career seriously or believed that she had much worth.

She felt the gathering of tears behind her eyes, and fiercely shook her head to hold them back. Thinking like this wouldn't accomplish anything. Her stomach suddenly growled, awakened by the exercise of her cruise down the sidewalk. _Stampede is more like it_, Grace smiled. She should return to the house and talk to Oliver, but first she needed some food. A

conversation like the one looming before her couldn't possibly go any worse on a full stomach. She pushed herself off the bench and headed back in the direction of her car, looking for a food vendor along the way.

CHAPTER 10

_A little food can do wonders for a bad frame of mind, _ Grace thought to herself as she walked through the cool, shadowed entrance hall. _Especially when it all stays down! _

She placed her hat and purse on the table located next to the stairs, knowing they'd be taken up to her room by one of the maids. She glanced at her reflection in an entryway mirror, and realized she actually looked better than she had in days. The food had really improved her appearance, but more likely she looked better because she no longer felt weighed down by the fear of not knowing. At least now she could move forward and plan ahead instead of simply sitting and spinning her wheels, as Annie liked to say. She looked into the mirror again. _Run over by a truck indeed!_

She looked at her watch to find it was only 11:00. It seemed as if the morning had drug on for three days. At 11 Annie would still be in her lessons and unless something had come up, Oliver should be in the office. She made her way up the stairs, thinking now was as good a time as any to inform him of his impending parenthood.

True to form, she could hear him bellowing as soon as she stepped into the hallway. She smiled, wondering if this was the long-awaited call from the prime minister. Oliver Warbucks wouldn't think twice at bawling out a head of state. In fact, she thought he enjoyed such opportunities and was surprised that he didn't call President Roosevelt every other day just to keep in practice. She could hear him more clearly as she approached the open office door.

"I'm not intimating anything, Ramsay, I'm telling you, I won't help you build up your air force if you insist on those Imperial tariffs. It's a far better deal for me to sell my planes to your biggest competitor, even if that is Germany!" Oliver paused as Grace stopped in the door and leaned against the frame, listening. He noted her arrival but didn't interrupt his conversation. Obviously the prime minister said something Oliver didn't like, because he scowled heavily. "MacDonald, if you continue those tariffs, the British Empire is going to find itself with a successful isolation policy because the rest of the western world won't want anything to do with it. And someday soon England's going to need a lot of help from the west!" With that Warbucks slammed the phone back into the cradle, still scowling. "Half the world is run by Democrats," he complained to Grace, who proceeded the rest of the way into the otherwise empty room.

Smiling affectionately, she replied, "He's not a Democrat, he's National Labour."

"As far as those tariffs are concerned, he might as well be a Democrat. I don't know how he can use the phrases Imperial preference and free trade in the same sentence and keep a straight face. He really means free for England, the rest of the world can pay through the nose!"

Grace's smile grew with Oliver's agitation. Since they were alone, she considered telling him how cute he was when he scowled, but didn't think he'd appreciate the gesture just now. "You wouldn't really sell your planes to Germany, would you?"

His eyes narrowed as if he was truly considering it, but finally admitted, "No, of course not, but MacDonald doesn't need to know that." He leaned back in his chair and regarded her more closely. "You look better than you have in days," he said appreciatively.

"It's amazing what a little food can do for your outlook." She swung her hip onto the corner of his desk and perched on the edge with a thoughtful expression.

When she didn't go on, he asked, "What did the doctor say?"

She couldn't control a scowl of her own as his question brought back that odious doctor's nasty comments, but she only answered, "Plenty, but nothing worth repeating."

When she didn't elaborate, Oliver prodded, "Do you know what's wrong?"

Grace looked at him fully then, regarding him silently. She bit her lower lip and decided there was really no way to soften what would surely be a shock, so she took a deep breath and began, "Oliver, how would you feel about…" but she was interrupted with the entrance of Mr. McAnally and Miss Parchert, two of Oliver's accounting team who had stepped out during the prime minister's phone call. Without noticing that Grace was perched informally on their boss' desk, they returned to their work stations and a stack of huge ledgers they'd been poring over, animatedly discussing some point in contention. Grace sighed heavily in relief at being interrupted. This was one conversation she didn't plan on having within earshot of anyone, and was thankful they hadn't come in two seconds later.

She looked back at Oliver sitting patiently, then leaned across the desk and quietly asked, "Can we step outside for a few minutes?"

Oliver again felt that niggling worry begin in the back of his mind, but only nodded, and, grabbing his coat, escorted Grace onto the office balcony and down the steps to the garden. He followed a stone path away from the house until he reached a relatively secluded bench deep in the gardens. He sat, motioning for her to join him.

"Alright, Grace, tell me what's going on."

The courage she felt in the office fled under his intense gaze, and she found she couldn't meet his eyes. She began fidgeting with the folds of her skirt, looking at the trees, the sky, anything but him. "Well," she began hesitantly, "I haven't been feeling my usual self as you know, and…this is rather unexpected…but…well…."

"Grace!"

Before she could stop herself, she blurted, "I'm pregnant!"

Nothing. Total silence, so total that it was deafening. It seemed even the birds were no longer singing. She turned back to face Oliver, and immediately wished she hadn't.

He was completely still, barely breathing, not even blinking, and staring straight through her with the hard gaze he usually reserved for shady business opponents. His intense scrutiny finally unnerved her enough to force her to speak again.

"Say something," she pleaded, her throat tight. Another heartbeat.

"I am such a fool!" He exploded off the bench and stalked to a nearby tree. He stood with his back to her for a minute, then began pacing quickly back and forth.

Of all the reactions she'd been imagining, this one had never made the list. "Oliver?"

He didn't explain his outburst, but instead swung around and barked, "How far along?"

She blinked in surprise at his question and his anger, not understanding either. "Oliver, what…?"

"I asked how long!"

She stared at him in shock, unable to formulate a reply. "You know how long…."

In two fast steps he was at the bench, leaning over it intimidatingly, and in a low voice growled, "Answer the question."

Her years of experience with him finally kicked in and she gathered her scattered thoughts. "A… a…a little over seven weeks, " she stuttered. What was going on here?

He resumed his pacing, his attention turned inward. _Seven? Or likely ten._ His gaze swung back over her and he raked her body with his eyes, but he couldn't gauge much visually. He scowled and resumed pacing. "I swore I'd never let this happen again," he muttered just loud enough for Grace to hear. "How could I have been so careless?"

What on earth did that mean?! Truly confused and growing a little concerned, Grace stood and took a few tentative steps towards him. "Oliver, what are you talking about?"

With no preamble, he stopped midstride and, stabbing her with a piercing glare, ground out, "Who's the father?"

The question so surprised her that she couldn't grasp its true significance. "What?"

His voice dangerously low, he repeated, "It's a simple question, Grace. Who's the father?"

Finally comprehending the meaning, his question shocked her to her core. _Did he think…?_ A chill the likes of which she'd never experienced started in her chest and slowly travelled along her veins until she couldn't breathe. She started shaking.

"Well?!" His voice was hard, his face twisted with anger. She'd seen him furious in the past, but never like this.

"You…you are!" Her voice cracked as her breath came out in ragged gasps. "You know that!"

"Do I?" he breathed out quietly, bellying the anger he was struggling to control. "We were only together twice, Grace. Do you expect me to believe…?"

She lost the fragile hold she'd been able to maintain on her composure, and throwing her hands in the air, shouted, "Yes!"

"Come Grace. Do you know how unlikely that is?"

"_Unlikely_?" Her voice rose in disbelief. "That's what happened!"

He stood for a moment, scrutinizing her as if weighing the legitimacy of her words. His expression morphed into one of disgust. He started pacing again. "So, according to you, we made love on two separate occasions, and seven weeks later you discover you're pregnant. Yes?" He turned to her for corroboration.

Grace nodded wordlessly. Although the words were frank and straightforward, she didn't like what his tone was implying.

"I see," he returned to his pacing, hands now clasped behind his back, his body language taking on a subtlely insulting tenor. "Let me paint another picture for you. You and I have worked side by side for, what did you say, five years?" She again nodded, and he continued. "In all that time, despite many long hours together both day and night, you never even blinked at me, let alone offered anything more intimate. If you had any emotional attachment to me at all, I certainly had no idea. Suddenly, seemingly out of the blue, I ran into you in the corridor late one night and we had an admittedly emotional moment due to the possible loss of Annie. One thing led to another and the next thing I knew you were inviting me into your bedroom. All more than slightly out of character for the highly efficient and ultra-reserved Miss Farrell. Also out of character was your performance in that bedroom. For someone who supposedly had never done anything of that nature before, you were, to put it mildly, amazing. Every man's dream, in fact. Either you are a natural, or you brought previous experience to the table, or the bed as the case may be. Nonetheless, you completely swept me off my feet. That's hardly happened to me before, and believe me, many women have tried, women far more worldly than you claim to be," he shot at her, but he didn't pause. "Convinced that I was head over heels in love with you, I proposed marriage, you accepted, and all was well. But curiously, as soon as she heard the news, your own mother assumed the only reason we're marrying is because you're pregnant. Now why would she assume that, I wondered? Doesn't she have faith in her own daughter's morality, let alone sincerity? And that night, again, you invited me to your bed. Now I look back on all of this and am left with one question: _why_?" He stopped and gave her a hard, calculating stare. "Let me pose a theory, Miss Farrell. I certainly have no knowledge of your intimate relationships prior to our own, only that I believe from the evidence you've had a fair share. I was out of town the week prior to Annie's arrival, and have not been apprised of your activities during my absence. Now I can't help but wonder if you had a very brief affiliation with someone during that week, someone who doesn't have much of a future or ability to raise a possible child that could result from said affair. You had to find someone more suitable, and quickly, or you'd never be able to pass off the child, should there be one, on the unsuspecting second party; me."

Grace stared at him, dumbfounded, her mind paralyzed by the web of deceit his words wove. This…this was too incredible to be imagined. That he thought she was capable of such deceptive artifice was…heartbreaking. She could barely squeeze the words around the lump in her throat to ask, "You don't actually believe that?"

He was standing where his oration had left him, hands still firmly clasped behind his back, looking like the judgmental right hand of God himself. "That's precisely what I believe."

Grace felt her world crash down around her. Her vision tunneled until all she could see was the look of pure disgust on Oliver's face. She was trembling so hard she wasn't sure how she remained standing. This was an absolute nightmare. All she could do was shake her head back and forth and utter a faint, "No."

Bringing his hands around, Oliver took two measured, threatening steps toward her. "Now I'm going to ask you one last time, Grace; _who's the father?!"_

Something inside Grace snapped. A terrible rage ripped through her with such ferocity that a detached part of her mind feared for Oliver's safety. She had given him everything she had: her love, her body, her very soul, with no reservations or demands, and this is what he thought of her?! That she was capable of…of…. She suddenly wanted nothing more than to get as far away from him as possible. But she wouldn't leave without answering his question.

Eyes narrowed, breathing hard, she met him on the lawn, stopping only when she was a foot away. Anger had such a grip on her she could barely open her mouth enough to hiss, "You are, but you don't deserve to be." With that, she ripped the engagement ring off her finger and slapped it into his open palm. Turning her back on him, she strode purposefully toward the house without a backwards glance.

CHAPTER 11

By the time Grace entered the mansion, much of the rage had ebbed away, leaving her feeling hollow and numb. She was still shaking, so she stopped in the main hall, leaning heavily against a pillar, trying to decide what to do.

That she had to leave was clear, and for a very long time if not permanently. But where to go? She couldn't even think. All she felt capable of doing was breathing, in and out, in and out, attempting to ignore the gaping hole in her soul.

"Mom? Are you okay?"

Grace whipped around to find Annie making her way down the last of the steps of the main staircase. "Annie! What…what are you doing here?"

"It's lunchtime. Would you like to eat with me? Since my math book was destroyed, I have more time than usual." The little girl looked up at her eagerly, her grin supporting the enthusiastic nod she was giving Grace.

Like a thunderclap, Grace realized that not only had she lost Oliver through this fiasco, but Annie as well, and she felt the gaping hole erode into a chasm. Her breathing again became ragged, and she felt tears building behind her eyes.

Ever observant, Annie noticed her adoptive mother's demeanor, and her face puckered in concern. "Mom?"

Grace made a quick decision and knelt before the little redhead who had so charmed her way into her affection. How to explain to the child what she didn't understand herself? She could only hope that someday Annie would be able to forgive her. "Annie," she began haltingly, "I… have to go away for a while. Maybe a long while. I'm sorry I can't say any more right now, but I want you to understand how much I love you, like you were my own daughter."

Annie didn't understand at all. "But I am your daughter. Why are you going away?" She was becoming scared.

Grace looked at the floor, praying for guidance in helping her explain the mess her life had become. "Because sometimes things just don't work out the way we want them to."

Annie's voice quivered as she began to grasp what was happening. "But _why? _Don't you love us anymore?"

Taking Annie's smaller hands in her own, Grace said fervently, "I will always love you, Annie, no matter what, whether I'm here right beside you or far away. Don't ever doubt that." She paused, choosing her words carefully. "But sometimes love isn't enough for happily ever after." With that, she pulled Annie into a tight embrace and choked, "I'm so sorry." She quickly stood and, barely able to see through the tears swimming in her eyes, grabbed her hat and purse off the table and swiftly fled through the large front door. Her car was still sitting on the drive from her excursion to the doctor less than an hour earlier. She climbed in, and before she could reconsider, started the engine and drove off, leaving her entire life and everything she cared about behind her.

* * *

Warbucks remained in the garden long after Grace left, so full of rage he could barely think.

"Damn!" He started pacing again, actually feeling his blood pressure rise. "Damn!" This was unbelievable. To be taken in by not one woman, but two; he had to be the world's biggest fool. What the hell had he been thinking, getting involved with her?

"You _weren't_ thinking, that was the problem," he muttered vindictively, hurling every epithet he could think of at himself. "Trading her reputation for a few hours of bliss? Trading your own, you should have said." He had to hand it to her, Grace had played her cards well, and as he'd said, performed so amazingly that he hadn't suspected a thing. Just the thought of their time in bed made his heart beat faster. He scowled again, wondering when he would ever prevail over his weakness for a pretty face.

"Women! They're all the same; lying, cheating, manipulative, selfish creatures always with an ulterior motive." But even as he said it, he couldn't pin his accusations onto the image of Grace he had in his mind. So he tried again. "Using you for the most they can get, knowing just what to say and how to say it, and better, how to use it, and always, _always_ after money and gain!" It was no good; he still couldn't think of Grace that way. Damn!

He stopped pacing and braced himself with one hand against the tree, staring at the grass at its base. His anger left him in a rush, leaving him shaking and weak. He needed to sit down. He made his way to the bench on trembling legs and fell onto it. Despite the warm autumn day, he was cold, and felt a shiver work its way up from the pit of his stomach until goose bumps erupted across his arms. The first pinpricks of tears began to gather behind his eyes, and he blinked rapidly to hold them back. A few escaped anyway and he let them go, thinking he hadn't cried in decades, and here he'd cried twice in as many months! _That's what happens when you let females get under your skin_, he ruminated, and scrubbed his face with the hand not holding the ring Grace had all but thrown at him. He paused, opening the hand that had been clutching it, and regarded the ring, thinking of all it represented.

He'd never been happier than the moment he gave it to her, believing his life with Grace and Annie couldn't possibly get any better. But surprisingly it had. Annie was so lively that joy followed her wherever she went. Her laughter was infectious, and he found himself joining her in it often. Grace had been right when she'd said the staff adored her. It was hard not to. Just being with her provided him with a contentment he hadn't even known was missing. When he factored Grace into the equation, with her beautiful smile and gentle soul, for the first time in his life he wished he hadn't spent so much energy on years of studying the profit margin. In fact he wished he'd spent those years studying every inch of Grace! And now?

He hadn't expected her to break their engagement. That move had surprised him. He didn't think he'd ever forget the look of total fury on her face, and for the first time he wondered if perhaps he'd jumped to his conclusions a bit hastily.

At the time all he'd been able to think of was the enormous betrayal he felt at Grace's announcement. Not for a second had he entertained the thought that the child was his. But whatever he thought, Grace certainly believed he was the father. She'd never lied to him before, about anything. Now that he was calmer, he could see that to lie about this didn't make sense. If he really wasn't the father, why tell him now? Why not wait until after the wedding, when he truly would be trapped? She could have easily hidden the pregnancy one more month; he would have never known.

As to her seemingly duplicitous intentions while spending the two nights with him, what if that truly was her finally giving in to a love she'd quietly harbored for him for years? He admitted she'd concealed her emotions well, but as he sat there, he recalled the several times during their acquaintance he'd caught her staring at him intently, only to quickly avert her eyes when he noticed. And on the rare occasions they touched, he'd felt a jolt of…something he couldn't define that made him acutely uncomfortable. He acknowledged that he hadn't given her many reasons to fall in love with him. Perhaps that was why he found it so hard to believe in the sincerity of her affection. He honestly couldn't imagine _why_ she was in love with him. He just knew that she claimed to be, and in all their time together, Grace had never given him even the remotest reason to doubt her integrity.

Regarding his feelings for her…well, he'd been telling the truth when he said she'd swept him off his feet. He had fallen, and fallen hard, and that frightened him. He didn't like the idea of someone having influence over him for any reason, and had spent most of his adult life holding everyone at arm's length in order to avoid any emotional entanglements. So how had it come to pass that he was caught in the most emotional…mess he could construe?

He sighed, shaking his head. He was giving himself a headache thinking in circles like he was. The bottom line was he loved her, with a soul-searing ferocity he couldn't hope to fight. Was he really going to let her go to face this alone? Without further introspection, he knew the answer was no.

He picked up the ring with his fingers and turned it until the diamonds caught the sunlight. The ring burst into a hundred sparkles, like Grace's eyes when she laughed. When he'd initially asked her to marry him, he knew without reservation she was the woman he wanted to share his life with, and he still felt that way. A baby wasn't going to change that. He sighed, and looked up into the branches overhead. Unfortunately, he had no idea whether she would even consider speaking to him again, let alone agree to be his wife after the horrendous accusations he'd hurled at her. He brought his gaze back to the ring. All he could do at this point was try, try to convince her that he sincerely loved and wanted her, her and their child.

It was only when he returned to the house and found Annie sobbing in her room that he realized the truly monumental mistake he'd made.

CHAPTER 12

"Damn! What was I thinking?!" Warbucks was pacing again, only this time in his office. Annie was sitting in an arm chair off to one side. He was furiously considering all the places Grace could have gone, and realized that he didn't have a single idea. She had at least a 90 minute head start and no one even saw which direction she turned out of the drive.

He'd quizzed both Annie and the staff when he first discovered Grace's absence, and learned only that his fiancée, or former fiancée, believed she'd be gone for quite a while. A quick search of her rooms had revealed that she'd packed nothing in her eagerness to leave. He only hoped that she'd had the wherewithal to take some money with her.

"Annie, at any time did Grace mention any friends to you, any names of people she might turn to if she was upset?"

Annie thought for a minute, and finally admitted, "No, I don't think so, at least not anyone who doesn't live here." She deliberated some more, and added, "What about her parents? You'd be the first person I'd want to talk to."

Warbucks stopped his pacing and smiled tenderly at his daughter. "I appreciate your confidence in me, Annie, but Grace doesn't have a close relationship with her parents. In this instance, they would be the last people she'd go to." _To say the least, _he continued to himself. "However," and he paused, leaning against his desk, his fingers tapping against the surface, his mind racing, "that gives me an idea."

He pulled the latest version of the New York City business directory from a desk drawer and flipped to the Fs. As Annie came around the desk corner to join her father, wondering what he was doing, he gave an excited, "Here it is!" He pointed out the listing for Farrell and Sons, Hardware and Implements, located in Inwood, in the northern portion of Manhattan.

"What's Farrell and Sons? Are they related to Mom?"

"That's her father's business. He and two of her brothers run a hardware store."

"Really? She never said anything about that before." Annie looked more closely at the listing, not knowing where Inwood was.

"It's a long story. One that I will explain to you when I get back." He copied the address onto a sheet of paper and made his way out of the office toward the lower level of the house.

Annie chased after him down the hallway. "I want to come with you!"

The Asp appeared seemingly out of nowhere. "As will I."

Oliver stopped and regarded them. "No, to both of you. Annie, I want you to stay here in case Grace does come home. I think you're the best person to keep her here until I can talk to her." To The Asp he said, "This is between Grace and me, and it's something I have to handle alone. I will be fine." Without a second glance, he moved down the stairs. As he reached the front door, Annie caught up to him and tugged on his arm.

"Tell her I love her."

He paused on the threshold, and dropped to his knees before his daughter. "I'll do everything I can to bring her home. I promise." With that he planted a kiss on her forehead, then hurried to the already running Duesenberg, held ready by Punjab, took a quick glance at the address he'd copied, and sped north.

* * *

Oliver leaned against the car door and surveyed the store front of Farrell and Sons Hardware and Implements, Grace's family business. His experienced eyes raked across the displays in the front windows. Under other circumstances he would have liked to talk to Grace's father regarding the ideas he'd already catalogued on how to improve the building and company. It had potential to be bigger than it was.

But his mission today had far greater import.

He entered the store and curiously surveyed the interior. It was crowded, the aisles barely wide enough to walk through. The shelves were teeming with merchandise, offering everything anyone could ever possibly need for any project. An old fashioned stove took up a fairly large amount of space towards the rear of the main showroom. Two older men were sitting next to it, speaking in heavy Irish brogues, arguing with each other about something that had recently happened at City Hall. Oliver actually couldn't understand them very well, their accents were so heavy.

"Can I help you?"

Oliver swung around to take in John, Grace's younger brother, and the one her father was grooming to take over the business. He'd met all of Grace's extended family at a recent get-together, partly to celebrate a young child's 5th birthday and partly to introduce him to the family. He'd only briefly spoken to John, but had decided that the young man, like the store, had potential.

"Mr. Warbucks! I didn't notice that it was you. Come on in. What can I do for you? Is Gracie with you?" John looked around for his sister. When he didn't see her, he eyed Warbucks curiously, wondering what on earth Gracie's extremely wealthy fiancé could possibly be doing here alone. After taking in Warbucks' tight expression he didn't think it was a social call.

"John, hello, it's good to see you again. And please, call me Oliver."

John nodded warmly. "With pleasure, Oliver, but what's on your mind? I doubt that Gracie sent you all the way up here for some new plumbing."

Oliver appreciated John's directness. "Forgive my rudeness, but actually, I'm in a bit of a hurry and I need your help." John's eyebrows rose, but he remained silent. "Grace and I have had a bit of a…disagreement, to put it mildly," he grimaced, but didn't elaborate, "and I'm afraid I said some incredibly insensitive things that will likely haunt me the rest of my days. I want to apologize to her, but unfortunately I can't find her. I have no idea where she could have gone, and frankly, I'm beginning to worry. She was quite upset when she left the house. I thought perhaps you or another member of your family might know her whereabouts."

John looked at Warbucks in astonishment. From the little he'd seen of him at Sean's party, he'd pegged this man as being cold, aloof and brusque, the exact opposite of his warm, caring sister and completely inappropriate as a husband for Gracie. He honestly had thought she'd lost her mind. But the man standing before him was obviously very concerned. It probably took a lot to make Oliver Warbucks ask anyone for help, but especially his fiancée's family whom he'd just met. John imagined it would be a very humbling experience. He decided Warbucks must care for Gracie a great deal.

John cupped his chin in his hand while he considered and discarded all the places he knew Grace liked or felt comfortable. He finally said, "I doubt she'd go to Mom and Dad's; they really don't get on."

"I thought the same thing."

John looked hard at Oliver. "You said she was upset. How upset are we talking about?"

Oliver sighed sadly. "Very, I'm afraid."

John nodded, wondering just what the man could possibly have said to hurt his sister as deeply as he had, or at least thought he had; remorse was written all over his face. "Then you need to talk to Grandmother."

John moved to the counter and scribbled something on a slip of paper. "We'd call her to save time, but she doesn't have a phone and we can't convince her to put one in. Claims they're a useless bother." He handed the paper to Oliver, who saw it contained a nearby address. "They have a very special relationship. She's always understood Grace far better than the rest of us, even me. If Grace isn't there already, Grandmother will know where she is if anyone does."

Oliver clutched the paper like it was a lifeline. He reached out and shook John's hand. "John, I can't thank you enough for your help. I'm indebted to you."

"No," the younger man said emphatically, "you're family. Just find Gracie and bring her home."

Oliver gave a tight smile and was quickly out the door. Watching as the flashy Duesenberg sped away, John hoped Warbucks and his sister could resolve the conflict, whatever it was. As Grace's husband, Oliver had a lot of potential.

* * *

Despite the fact that Oliver had already met Grace's paternal grandmother at the family party, he was still surprised by the woman who answered the door. He had a bad habit of thinking all grandmothers should be like his were, at least what he could remember of them before he left England; portly elderly ladies with snow white hair, stooped at the shoulders, who were content in their old age to watch the world go by. The lady who met him was elderly to be sure, and had gray hair, but that's where the real grandmother veered off dramatically from the figure persisting in his mind. Isibeal Grace Farrell was an active 85 year old lady who'd seen and done more in her lifetime than most people dared dream about.

Born in County Clare in 1848, she'd survived the Great Famine by pure nerve, her mother had said. Those horrible, lean years molded the young child into a scrappy, innovative, and ambitious individual who simply didn't know the word failure. Failure to Isibeal meant you starved to death; not an option to her young mind. When her family drug themselves out of a state of constant want by hard work and grit, she began to see what life had to offer. By 16 she decided that Ireland didn't have as much to offer as she wanted.

America was the veritable Garden of Eden, she'd been told. America was the land of opportunity, where the streets were paved in gold. In America you earned in a month what it took a year to make in Ireland. In America, you could be anything you set your mind to. So at 22, she took every penny she had, borrowed the rest and purchased third class passage on a ship headed to New York. It never occurred to her that young single women just didn't pick up andimmigrate to foreign countries by themselves.

She quickly discovered there would be no easy ticket to those golden streets, not if you were Irish, and especially not if you were female. She knew she was headed back to starvation if she didn't do something drastic to change her fortunes. One night she took a long, hard look at herself in the cracked mirror of her drab boarding house. She was a tall woman, slim, but husky and strong, built up by years of toiling in the fields of home. Quick witted and smart, she knew there was more out there if she was just man enough to go after it. That thought gave rise to the idea that saved her life.

Two days later she emerged from the boarding house with shorn hair, her chest bound and wearing pants stolen from the man across the hall. Before long she'd added a coat and cap to her costume and set out to forge a new life as a man.

She soon found work in Dale & Howell's Foundry that, while not paying a fortune, paid far more than what she could have earned as a female Irish domestic. It was dirty, hot work, but she got along well with her coworkers, and she was industrious, frequently finishing her share of the work early, giving her time to look around the foundry.

What she saw rather disgusted her. The company was so disorderly and poorly run she didn't know how the management could track the orders. Taught by years of hard labor, she was constantly looking for easier, faster or more efficient ways of doing things. She decided that her foundry, as she'd come to call it, could use some help.

After working for the company a month, she took her observations and ideas straight to Mr. Dale himself. Without realizing the need for an appointment, she knocked on the door and then walked right in, immediately coming face to face with the most handsome man she'd ever laid eyes on. It was only later she realized that she'd inadvertently interrupted a meeting between Mr. Dale and the company's new assistant manager, Colm Farrell. The meeting, it so happened, regarded Mr. Farrell's observations on how the foundry would be more efficient if Dale and Howell were to implement the list of changes in work flow he'd recorded on the paper Dale was holding. Without looking at the paper, Isibeal rattled off nearly the same list from her ideas.

Intrigued by the far thinking ability of this young "man", to say nothing of his brashness, Dale assigned him to work with Farrell, believing the changes the management needed to undertake would be even better if set up so the workers were happy, and what better way to accomplish that than to poll a worker who seemed to have his finger on the pulse of the whole darn business.

Isibeal and Colm Farrell worked closely together for several weeks, and it didn't take long for Isibeal to decide that the assistant manager was the man she was meant to spend the rest of her life with. So, donning her female attire once again, she presented herself to Mr. Farrell and asked in her direct manner what he thought about the idea.

Once he recovered from his complete shock of discovering that his new partner was actually a woman, and probably smarter than him to boot, he took a good long look at her and decided that would suit him just fine.

So they married and settled down to raise a family. Colm remained with Dale and Howell, helping to improve their business with the invaluable assistance of his wife, who would occasionally visit the foundry, usually with a child on her hip, to see how things were developing. If they weren't to her satisfaction, one of the partners heard about it.

Isibeal and Colm instilled a strong work ethic in their children, and all of them became successful in their chosen path, including Kieren, their third child, who grew up to take a slight departure from the foundry business that so enamored his father. Instead he branched out into hardware, the natural progression of iron works. He married a traditional Irish woman and later became Grace's father.

Oliver Warbucks didn't know any of this, nor at the moment would he have cared. All he could think of was the longer it took him to find Grace, the farther away she was likely to go, until he began to fear he'd never see her again.

As he stood on Mrs. Farrell's doorstep he fiercely stamped down the rising panic he felt. Giving in to his fear would not help him find Grace or fix the intolerable situation he'd created. He took a deep breath and greeted the old woman with a tiny smile.

"Mrs. Farrell, I'm…." he began, but Isibeal interrupted.

"You're Grace's young man," she said, nodding. "I remember you from Sean's birthday."

_Well, there's certainly nothing wrong with her memory, _Oliver thought, even as he chuckled at being referred to as 'Grace's young man.' "Yes, we spoke briefly there." He paused, then simply asked, "May I come in?"

He soon found himself ensconced in Isibeal's worn but comfortable living room, with a cup of steaming tea in his hand. Sitting next to him on the sofa, Isibeal regarded him over the rim of her own cup of tea. Allowing her a moment to satisfy her curiosity, Oliver took a careful sip of the tea. As the beverage hit his tongue, his eyes grew wide and he glanced sharply at the old lady. He'd bet the Duesenberg there was a fair amount of whiskey in it.

"This is delicious!" He savored the tea with a few more swallows. "But I'd say there's more to this tea than meets the eye."

Her blue gray eyes danced in merriment. "It's a special Irish blend, sure to help even the most ailing soul." Her brogue was slight, and the humor in her voice made it almost musical. She took a sip of her own tea and sighed in contentment. Then she turned her full attention to the man sitting next to her. "And by the look on your face, your soul is needin' some comfort. Anything you'd care to share with an old woman?"

Oliver looked at her with some consternation, wondering how much he should tell her and just where to begin. "I hope you don't mind my arriving unannounced. John sent me here."

That seemed to be all the encouragement Isibeal needed. "Ah, yes, John," she said, her eyes alight with true affection. "He's a good boy. And smart, both he and Grace are. Don't get me wrong, my boy, I love all my grandchildren, but I'm afraid John and Grace got all the brains and the beauty in the family. They take after me, you see."

Oliver gave the lady his first genuine smile in what felt like days, and realized Isibeal was right. Grace did resemble her grandmother, especially her eyes. They were large and warm, and the color of the sea on a stormy day. That realization brought a pang to his heart. He sighed heavily and set his cup of tea on the table in front of him.

"Mrs. Farrell, I need your help."

"Call me Isibeal," she said, "and I'll certainly try."

Oliver nodded, and continued quietly, "I don't know where else to turn."

Isibeal reached out and covered Oliver's knee with her hand. "Maybe you'd best start at the beginning."

Over the next half hour, Oliver divulged the entire story, from Annie's arrival, Punjab's daring rescue on the bridge, and all the emotional rolls that followed. He left out nothing, including his feelings for Grace and the two wonderful nights they'd spent together.

"The last two months with Annie and Grace have been the happiest of my life. I can barely remember what my days were like before Annie. And Grace…she's like no other woman I've ever met. I've been barking orders at her for five years, and I had no idea how she felt about me. It took Annie to make me come to my senses and realize how very much I love your granddaughter." He paused, and his gaze dropped to the rug at his feet.

Isibeal picked up the story for him. "But something happened to disrupt that happiness, something caused by you." It was a statement. Not a judgmental one, but firm.

Oliver raised his eyes to look directly at her. "Yes, " he admitted. "Since our first night together, I've been unable to shake the feeling that Grace's love for me can't be real. I've spent so many years being suspicious of the motives of those around me that I have a hard time accepting that anyone might truly be sincere. That sounds ridiculous, I know."

"Fiddle faddle," Isibeal disagreed. "You didn't become the success that you are by blindly trusting everyone who's come through your door. And I imagine that instinct has sadly been reinforced on more than one occasion.."

"Yes, well, this is one occasion I should have shut off that instinct and let my heart take over."

When he didn't elaborate, Isibeal leaned forward and softly implored, "What happened?"

Oliver's voice was laced with grief as he imparted, "Grace came to me this morning with the startling news that she's expecting a child. I…I…," he stumbled, remembering the scene in the garden, "didn't react well," he finally disclosed haltingly. "In truth, I was monstrous. I could think of nothing but the betrayal I was convinced had occurred. In that hurt and anger I accused her of having an illicit affair before our relationship began, a relationship I determined existed only as a means to provide for some other man's child."

Isibeal drew back in shock, appalled that someone, especially someone claiming to love Grace, could think so poorly of her.

Oliver acknowledged the look on her face. "Grace responded rather the same way," he confessed, "and spectacularly broke our engagement. That was the move that finally breached the wall of righteousness I'd surrounded myself with. I began to comprehend that I'd been an incredible fool and made a terrible mistake. But by then it was too late; Grace left the house shortly after our argument, with the full intention of never returning. I've been desperately searching for her since." Oliver grasped Isibeal's hands and implored, "If I can't find her, convince her how wrong I was and how hollow my life will be without her, I…I don't know what I'll do," he finished, his voice tight.

Isibeal was struck with the intensity and profound despair of the man before her. Although initially having her doubts of the union, she now knew that Oliver Warbucks was a man of deep feelings, a man who, as he said, was profoundly in love with her granddaughter. He deserved the chance to right the unpardonable wrong he'd committed. She squeezed his hands in sudden affection. She'd do what she could by him.

"If Grace comes here, I'll tell her what you've said, but I think I might know where she's gone. Her aunt once lived in the small village of New Dorp on Staten Island. After my Colm died, I often went with the family on their visits. Nearby is the beach. When Grace was a young lass, she and I went there many a time." Isabeal's face came alive with the memory. "Oh, how Grace loved the beach at New Dorp! She said it was the most wild, beautiful place in the world, a place where the wind carries away your worries and the sea soothes a troubled mind." The old lady looked at Oliver pointedly. "Given what you've told me, if Grace can be found, you'll find her at New Dorp."

CHAPTER 13

Ninety minutes later, after a ferry ride that would have tested his patience on a normal day, Oliver turned the Duesenberg into the auto lot for the New Dorp beach. Despite the time being nearly 5:30, the lot was deserted but for three cars. The relief Oliver felt when he spotted Grace's among them made his hands shake.

He slowly got out of the car, eyes scanning the beach. A stiff wind hit his face and he glanced out to the ocean, noticing the dark blue horizon. A storm was moving in. He probably wouldn't have much time before it hit.

The air was warm and humid. He'd removed his coat long ago, but now he took off the tie and vest as well, feeling that his clothes were constricting in the heavy atmosphere. After a second of hesitation, he removed the cufflinks too, and rolled his sleeves to his elbows. Then he moved to the point where the small gravel lot gave way to the sand of the beach and started searching for Grace in earnest.

To the south the beach was empty as far as he could see, so he turned his gaze left, toward the Narrows and Brooklyn, and he felt his heart skip a beat as he caught sight of her, just as Isibeal had predicted.

Sitting in the sand, knees drawn to her chest, Grace's eyes were locked on the ocean. He saw her heave a deep sigh and then cover her face with her hands. Remorse engulfed him again, but he didn't approach her. He'd focused his mind so much on finding her that he hadn't spared a second thought on what to say to her once he did. Now he was paralyzed, knowing that saying the wrong thing could make this fiasco so much worse. So he stood there, watching her, not knowing how to breach the huge chasm between them. But indecision wasn't part of Oliver Warbucks' personality, and remaining silent would guarantee a life of unhappiness for both of them. Hoping the lord above would help him know what to say and do, or at least inspire him to think on his own, he started toward her.

* * *

Grace still had her face buried in her hands. _What am I going to do?_ She'd asked herself that question no fewer than 20 times since her arrival hours ago. She felt no closer to a solution now than the first time she'd sobbed it aloud to the wind.

Initially upon fleeing the mansion, she'd had no idea where she was going. All she knew was that she had to get far away and as quickly as possible. Unfortunately she'd blindly turned south from the drive, and one could only drive south so far on Manhattan before the island gave way to the Upper Bay. With no real notion of her direction, she'd swung the car into the Holland Tunnel. Once in New Jersey, she knew she couldn't go north to Hoboken, for all that did was remind her of Annie and her supposed destination the night of her kidnapping. So she turned south again, toward Staten Island, and she suddenly envisioned where she needed to go.

She hadn't been to New Dorp in years, not since her aunt and uncle had moved to Inwood to be near the rest of the family. As she drove through the village proper, she could see it hadn't changed much. The resort hotels and tourist attractions still lined the boardwalk to the south, but she ignored them and turned back north, where the ocean front wasn't developed and the beaches were less crowded. 2:00 on a Thursday seemed to be the prime time to visit if you wanted to be by yourself, for there was hardly anyone on the northern beach, and those who were took one look at her face and left her alone.

Leaving her shoes and stockings in the car, she started walking. She walked for a long time, almost to the Narrows, and then she turned back, her legs aching from the unaccustomed strain of walking in sand. The wind, growing stronger as the afternoon wore on, whipped her hair and skirt, until she felt as battered physically as she did emotionally. At last, exhausted, she sank to her knees in the sand and aloud to no one, moaned, "What am I going to do?" Suddenly, she was crying hard, gut wrenching sobs that shook her entire body. It seemed as if she cried for hours, unable to stop, until she couldn't remember a time in her life when she wasn't crying.

Finally spent, a numbness settled over her so that she could concentrate on nothing but that one question, _What am I going to do?_ She stared at the ocean, hypnotized by the inexorable movement of the waves traveling in and out, unable to formulate a solution for the rest of the day let alone the rest of her life. All she was able to comprehend was that in the matter of a few minutes she'd lost her home, her job, a daughter, and a powerful love most people couldn't fathom, let alone experience. She didn't even have a change of clothes; she knew she'd never return to the mansion to collect the possessions she'd left behind. _I likely wouldn't be allowed in the front door, _she thought sadly, fresh tears springing to her eyes. The only thing she did have was an unplanned pregnancy and no future to speak of. How she could possibly get another job without a reference from Warbucks, International covering the five years she'd spent working with Oliver she didn't know. She had never imagined she'd have to.

She took a deep breath, fighting back another sob surging its way up from her chest. Covering her face with her hands, she tried to get her emotions under control again. Still that one question rang through her mind even as the sob worked passed her defenses until aloud she choked, "What am I going to do?"

So she was taken completely by surprise when a deep male voice quietly uttered, "Hopefully forgive me for being such a fool."

Grace was so surprised that she lurched backwards, scrambling to get a purchase in the sand enough to stand up, but it kept moving out from under her feet. She finally had to roll onto her side which put her on her hands and knees, but the wind wrapped her skirt around her foot, and every time she tried to stand from that position, her dress tugged her back to the ground. Then her hair blew into her eyes and she couldn't see to unwrap her foot. Suddenly she felt herself lifted off the ground for the second time that day and gently placed on her feet. She thrashed her arms, causing Oliver to break his hold on her. She swung around to face him, gasping, still reeling from the shock of his arrival.

They stood, regarding each other silently for several heartbeats. Finally Oliver softly said, "Hello, Grace."

Grace was still breathing hard, unable to form a coherent thought other than, "How in the name of God did you find me?"

"Your grandmother told me how much you loved this spot as a young girl. She suggested I look here."

Grace was stunned. "You spoke to my grandmother?!"

"I talked to John as well. He didn't know where you could be, so he told me I needed to see your grandmother." Oliver paused at Grace's corresponding look of horror and quickly moved to reassure her. "John doesn't know anything specific," and he hesitated, unsure whether she'd be upset that her grandmother knew the truth or not, "but I did tell your grandmother the entire story."

Dumbfounded, Grace stuttered, "You told…she knows that…." Her eyes darted wildly from side to side, and her breath came in short gasps. "Now I can't even go there," she muttered.

Oliver shook his head in denial at her implication. "No, she never said anything about…."

Anger and dismay filled her voice as she cried, "She's Irish, Oliver! Strict Catholic. My whole family is. When they find out I'm pregnant and unmarried, they'll never speak to me again. I won't be welcome with any of my family. I quite literally have nowhere to go."

Oliver sighed. "That won't come to pass. You have a home…."

Now she was incredulous. "Where? With you? Do you honestly believe that I would stay there, after what you said? That house is no longer my home, Oliver! You saw to that earlier today! Just like I no longer have a job and have little to no prospect of finding another one." When he opened his mouth to refute that as well, she explained, "No one is going to hire a pregnant woman to be his secretary, you know that as well as I do. Even if I could find a position before this baby becomes obvious, I'd be fired the moment the truth became known. The only thing I do have, _Oliver_, is a pregnancy that has ruined my entire future, to say nothing of my career!"

"Grace, if you'll just listen to me for a moment…."

Grace's face grew dark, and her eyes narrowed. "I think you've said enough for one day," and she turned away in much the same manner as she had in the garden, heading for her car.

Unlike in the garden, however, Oliver quickly moved to stop her, grabbing her arm and spinning her around. He gripped her shoulders to keep her still long enough to hear him out. "Grace, I'm sorry…."

She still didn't let him finish. "No, Oliver, I'm the one who's sorry. Sorry for believing in happily ever after. Sorry for thinking that love conquers all, even the apparently insurmountable gulf between billionaires and their secretaries. Sorry for thinking that anyone, most of all you, would actually think well enough of me to believe that I'd want to marry you solely because I love you, not because I have some selfish ulterior motive!" At the reference to his awful accusation of earlier, her face suddenly contorted in anguish. "How could you? How could you think that I….that I would...," and the sob that had died in the initial shock of seeing him rose from her chest like the coming storm. Before it could escape her tight throat, she pushed his hands away from her shoulders, intent on once again getting as far away from him as possible.

But Oliver wouldn't let go. When she began to struggle in earnest, he sank to his knees in the sand, pulling her down with him. Then he drew her to him, desperately wrapping his arms around her like he was trying to hold on to the wind. He started speaking hurriedly, as though afraid she'd tear herself away before he had time to say what he knew needed to be said. The words tumbled out of him.

"I'm sorry, Grace. So sorry for what I said earlier. It's not what happened and I was a fool to even think it. The scenario I projected actually had little to do with you. I know that doesn't make any sense, but I'll explain everything. It won't justify my atrocious behavior, or even excuse it, but it will hopefully clarify why I reacted the way I did." He paused to pull back and look at her. "Will you stay and listen? Please?"

Grace regarded him warily. Over the years she'd seen him do some rather questionable things, ethically, and even be downright manipulative in order to get his way, but only and ever professionally. Never had she seen him toy with another's emotions for his own personal gain. She decided there would be little benefit to leaving without hearing what he had to say, so she gave him a curt nod and said, "All right. I'll listen." He slowly loosened his hold as if he was still afraid she'd bolt at the first opportunity. This annoyed her, and she said tersely, "I gave you my word, Oliver. I'll listen."

If he noted her tone, it wasn't evident. Oliver gave a nod of his own, and completely let her go. He sat back on the beach, faced the ocean and took a deep breath as if girding himself against something unpleasant. With no more preamble, he began. "Many years ago, long before you came to work for me, I was travelling extensively in Europe, setting up several factories in England, France and Spain to manufacture weapons and artillery. World War I was under way and I knew the United States would eventually enter the conflict even if Wilson was dead set against it. The fighting was going to take place in Europe, and we needed weapons on site. I planned to provide those weapons."

"While I was getting the factories up and running, I spent a lot of time in Marseilles, France. I met a woman there by the name of Liset Desmarais, who, to make a long story short, summarily swept me off my feet."

Grace raised her eyebrows at the reference to his claim in the garden that she had done the same thing. He glanced at her and saw her expression. "I told you several women have tried. You and Liset have been the only ones who succeeded." At that Grace's cheeks flushed red and she averted her gaze out to the darkening ocean. Oliver gave a tiny smile at her reaction, but continued with his story.

"Liset was everything I'd ever hoped to find in a companion and I quickly and thoroughly fell in love with her. In a short time we were engaged, with a wedding date set as soon as I could wrap up my business dealings." He paused, and Grace saw his countenance grow hard and his lips tighten into a thin line. Whatever was to come, it wasn't a good memory. "Luckily, a mutual acquaintance brought some unsavory reports regarding Liset to my attention, reports with enough credence to cause my own investigation into her past. I won't go into detail, but what I found brought about a confrontation between us of an explosive nature, during which I broke our engagement and she produced a pistol and threatened to kill me."

Grace, who'd been listening with interest, exclaimed, "Good lord!"

He smiled again, this time in amusement to her outburst. "It was rather dramatic."

When he didn't go on immediately, Grace asked, "Did she shoot?"

"Actually, yes," Oliver drawled, "but she missed. Punjab, who I'd just hired as a bodyguard, burst through the door and disarmed her before she could get off another shot. As I doubt she would have missed a second time, I owe him my life, and he's been with me ever since. I walked out, intending to never see her again. I later discovered Liset had a history full of wealthy benefactors whom she'd used and discarded. Undoubtedly she would have ruined me financially had we married."

"What happened to her?"

Oliver sighed. "Foolishly, I didn't press charges." At Grace's surprised look, he shrugged. "I was still in love with her, and I really just wanted to forget the entire affair. I honestly thought I'd never see her again."

"But you did?"

"Three years later I received notice from an attorney with Liset's claim that I'd fathered a child with her, and she was suing me for support for her and the child, as well as damages for neglect to the tune of 25 million dollars."

Grace drew in a quick breath. "25 million?! That's…."

"A fortune even by my standards," he finished for her. "I was fairly certain the child wasn't mine, and I went to great lengths to prove it. It took a lot of time, effort and money to do so, but eventually I was able to convince the magistrate that I wasn't even in France when the child had to have been conceived. Of course Liset was simply after the money. Once the matter was cleared up I tried to bring charges against her for the previous assault, but the term of limitations had run out, so I had to let her go." Oliver sent a rueful smile to Grace. "However, I did set up a trust fund to support the child until he turns 18. The real father is apparently absent, and lord knows his mother isn't worth much as a parent, but I didn't see the need to make an innocent child suffer for that."

Comprehension dawned on Grace's face. "So that's what that trust fund is for. I always wondered, but it certainly wasn't my business to ask."

He simply nodded. "With the overly dramatic chapter of Liset finally closed, I determined to never allow myself to get into that situation again, so I planned to stay as far away from women as I could, which, I admit, wasn't always easy. Females seem to be attracted to money, and mine seems to attract more than a fair share."

Grace gave an inelegant snort. "You could always just say no thank you, go away."

Oliver chuckled at her retort. "I often have." Then his face softened into something far more adoring. "Then I met you."

Grace glanced at him in surprise. "What do you mean? You've never looked twice at me over the years."

"No," he agreed, "but if I had been paying attention, I'd have known long ago that I'd fallen in love with you."

Her brows furrowed and she looked unconvinced.

"Remember, I told your parents that I've loved you for a long time; I only just recently became aware of it."

Shocked, she exclaimed, "I thought you said that to pacify them."

"Oh, no, that was true." She still appeared skeptical, and he searched for the words to illustrate what he himself had discovered only a short time ago. "My feelings for you were a slow progression that probably first manifested with simply wanting you to be around." Now she looked confused. He explained, "It wasn't always my practice to work the late hours that I do now. When I first started the habit, I needed to put more hours in to get everything done, and I could do that more effectively late at night when no one would bother me. I told myself it just made sense to have you there too, available to do whatever needed to be done. Because of that, we've spent a lot of time together. I got used to having you near me, and I felt a little lost when you weren't. Actually I got quite irritated, especially if you were on a date, pinning the feeling on needing you for work purposes when in fact I really didn't like you being with another man!"

Grace sat in stunned silence for a long time. Finally finding her voice, she said, "I had no idea."

"You weren't the only one! As I said, I wasn't paying attention. More likely I didn't want to see what should have been obvious, even then. Liset left a lasting impression," he gave by way of an explanation, grimacing, "but I absolutely should have realized what was going on when you got caught in that blizzard while trying to return from visiting your friend in Ohio."

Grace shuddered at the memory he brought up. "That was the worst trip of my life!" She turned to him, anger from both the day and the long ago trip evident in her voice. "I can't believe I let you talk me into trying to outrun that storm in a two-seater airplane, of all things. I never would have agreed to go if you hadn't been so insistent. I distracted myself from the awful turbulence by listing the vile names I was going to call you if I actually got back in one piece. What were you thinking?!"

He smiled at her recollection. "In hindsight it was an incredibly risky notion to try to get you home before the storm moved in. I wouldn't have suggested the flight if the pilot didn't think he could make it. Joe Anderson had worked for me for years. He's one of if not _the_ best pilot in the air, and I trust his judgment implicitly, even now. One negative word from him and I would have had you stay put."

Grace gave him an aggravated frown. "I asked Joe before I got on the plane if there was a chance we wouldn't make it to New York. He said, 'There's always a chance, lady, but if you stop jawing and get in so I can take off, I'll get you there.' Joe is an…interesting individual. I can't imagine what he considers really bad weather."

"I probably wasn't thinking clearly," Oliver admitted. "I just wanted you home. I knew that if you waited, it would likely be a week or more before you could get through. You'd already been gone six days, which to my mind was five too many. No one else on staff could do the work to my satisfaction and I told myself the business was suffering too much to allow your continued absence. In truth, _I_ was the one who was suffering! I was a terrible grouch that week."

She actually smiled. "So I was told the minute I walked in the door. I think the staff was happier to see me than you were."

He eyed her affectionately. "I doubt that. I was positively elated when you came into the office that afternoon. I almost hugged you."

Testily, she said, "As I recall, you put me right to work. Your exact words were 'Well, it's about time you got here! If you think you can spare a few minutes, Miss Farrell, I need you to take a letter.' I wanted to throw my suitcase at you."

Oliver laughed. "You should have; it might have knocked some sense into me." He grew somber. "After things calmed down and I looked back on the incident, instead of examining what I was feeling, I focused on what bad practice it was to rely so heavily on one person. But to train other personnel on some of your responsibilities meant less time with you, and I wasn't willing to do that. So, completely ignoring all the red flags, I simply labeled you a prime business resource and came to rely on you more and more as time went on." He looked at her with sincere admiration. "You're awfully good at your job, Grace."

A scowl settled over her face. "Was good, you mean," and she averted her eyes, refusing to look at him.

A sad sigh escaped his lips as he took in the stubborn set of her jaw. It was time to address the real issue. He turned towards her and picked up her hand, clasping it between both of his. She didn't try to withdraw it, which he took as a good sign.

"Grace," he began hesitantly, "what happened earlier today - I can only offer you my deepest apology and ask for your forgiveness. Despite that we'd spent two nights together, I truly never expected that a child would come of it. When you told me, I was completely surprised, and could only focus on the similarity to Liset and what I thought was an enormous betrayal. All I could think was what a complete fool I'd been, _again_."

"I'm not Liset!" Grace asserted angrily .

"No," Oliver went on calmly, "you're not. You're nothing like her. But Liset apparently did more damage to my self-esteem than I was inclined to admit. I've been immensely happy these past two months, Grace, but I could never make myself believe that you're willing to look past my numerous faults and sincerely love me. I've been waiting for the other shoe to drop ever since you accepted my proposal. Your confession fit my preconceived bill perfectly, and instead of considering your character, I concentrated on the fact that once again I was engaged to a woman I don't know very well. I jumped to the entirely wrong conclusion, and behaved atrociously and quite dishonorably. It took your breaking that engagement to make me realize what a horrible mistake I'd made."

Grace looked at him skeptically. "You've worked with me for five years, Oliver. How could you feel that you don't know me?"

"I know you quite well professionally," he corrected, "but personally," he shook his head. "I don't know what you would think or do in many given situations. I've never had cause to know you on a personal level. I don't even know your favorite color!" he proclaimed. Before she could reply, he continued, "But if I had to guess, I'd say it's …."

"Blue," they answered in unison. Grace gave a tiny smile as Oliver explained, "Many of your clothes are blue."

Pleased that he'd even noticed this, she ran her eyes over his outfit and said, mildly flirtatious, "I highly doubt your favorite color is black."

He returned her smile, more than slightly relieved at her manner. "No, it's not black. Actually it's the color of your eyes."

Her smile disappeared as he held her gaze. She considered what he'd told her. It didn't absolve him of the grievous error he'd committed, but she now understood why he'd committed it in the first place.

"I could never betray you like that," she finally said, her voice heavy with emotion.

Without dropping his gaze, he firmly assured, "I know," and passionately added, "I love you, Grace. You and Annie are my entire life, and I will love our child just as deeply. Please, forgive me and come home."

She spent a few more seconds scrutinizing him, then came to a decision. Her face crumpled and she let out a gasping sob as she threw herself into his arms. He held her tightly, rocking her as great sobs wracked her body, even crying with her. She repeatedly choked, "I love you, Oliver," until her emotions overwhelmed her ability to talk. Then he was kissing her heatedly, tasting the salt of tears on her lips. Much later, he ruminated that he would have made love to her on the beach without a second thought to the consequences if a strong growl of thunder hadn't sunk into his consciousness and made him pull away.

Breathing heavily, he looked to the horizon and quickly became alarmed at how dark the sky had grown.

Grace noticed the approaching storm at the same time and was already climbing unsteadily to her feet. "We'd better leave," she said, her voice low and rough. She pulled him up, but before she could start toward the lot, he stopped her, cupped her face in his hands, and asked,

"Grace Farrell, will you marry me?"

She covered his hands with her own. "Yes," she agreed simply, and kissed him deeply again, pulling away only when another clap of thunder rolled over them. Without another word she pulled him in the direction of the cars.

Above the rising wind, he shouted, "Let's put the tops up, then why don't you ride with me? We'll send someone for your car tomorrow." Grace just nodded, and helped him raise the convertible covers on both cars to protect them from the oncoming storm. Then she ducked into her car, grabbed her shoes and other belongings and dropped into the front seat of the Duesenberg next to him. The silence of the interior was in stark contrast to the loud wind. As Oliver pulled the car onto the road, Grace puffed air into the hair hanging over her eyes, then tried to vainly comb it with her fingers. She finally gave up with a frustrated shake of her head.

"You look beautiful," Oliver claimed, glancing at her out of the corner of his eye.

Grace gave him a disparaging look. "No, as the good Dr. Meier put it, I look like I've been run over by a truck."

"He said that?" Oliver asked, stunned.

She sighed, "Among other, more insulting things." At his questioning look, she added, "It's been a hard day. However, he did provide the sound advice that I need to eat more." On cue, her stomach growled loudly. "As you can hear," she continued with a quirk of her eyebrow. "The Old Mill restaurant is just up the road. Will you join me for dinner?"

"Miss Farrell, are you asking me for a date?"

She smiled. "Just don't tell my boss. I understand he gets a bit put-out when I'm on a date."

"I won't say a word."

CHAPTER 14

The storm broke just as they sat down. Wind and rain lashed at the quaint building so that in seconds they couldn't see ten feet passed the window. Oliver was glad Grace had suggested dinner; he wouldn't have wanted to drive in this weather, and he knew there were responsibilities at home they'd have to deal with when they arrived, Annie being one of them. He much preferred more time alone with her, or as alone as two people could be in a public restaurant.

"You're looking pleased with yourself," Grace was eyeing him, a slight smile curving her lips.

"I was thinking this was a good idea, but mainly that I'm so relieved I found you!"

She pensively stared down at the cup of coffee a waitress had just placed before her. "Oliver, what do you say we forget today ever happened?" She looked back at him, cocking her head to one side. "You're going to have the tendency to dwell over this and I think we've both suffered enough today. As long as you don't parallel me to any of your past loves again, let's just not mention it, ever."

Oliver thought he could never possibly love this woman more than at this moment. That she could forgive him so completely amazed him. He didn't deserve her, and would spend the rest of his life trying to measure up to her opinion of him. He reached across the table and gathered her small hands in his. "I won't forget today; it will serve to remind me how close I came to losing you, but I promise not to mention it again. And I will never equate you to _any_ woman. You're the finest woman I've ever known."

A strange voice next to them exclaimed, "That's the best speech I've heard in my entire life!"

Both Oliver and Grace looked up in surprise at the middle-aged waitress standing at their table. Grace smiled and glanced affectionately at Oliver, whose cheeks were colored a dull red. "Yes, it was."

Oblivious to Oliver's discomfort, the waitress whipped out her order pad. "So folks, what'll it be?"

Still grinning at a blushing Oliver, Grace answered, "As much as I would love a huge steak right now, I'd better have chicken noodle soup and some bread, please."

The waitress scribbled it down as Oliver's brow furrowed. "Why? I thought you were hungry."

"I'm starved, but if I eat a lot I'm not sure I could keep it down."

He continued to look confused for a moment, then suddenly comprehended her meaning at the same time as the waitress.

"Pregnant, huh?" She nodded sagely. "Good choice on the soup then. I'll bring extra crackers. You?" she turned to Oliver, who was glaring at her like she'd grown two heads. When he didn't answer right away, Grace pointedly cleared her throat.

Without looking away, Oliver barked, "Steak, medium rare, baked potato with butter." Then he suddenly looked to Grace and asked, "You don't mind my having steak, do you?" referring to her first choice.

Smiling broadly, she shook her head.

Still writing, the waitress declared, "I've never seen a father care so much for his daughter!" which caused Grace's smile to morph into a choking cough.

While Grace was practically turning purple trying not to laugh outright, Oliver's glare grew and he snapped, "I'm not her father!"

Not hearing the warning tone in Oliver's voice, the waitress continued unabashed, "Oh." Her brows lowered above her sharp nose. "Who are you then?"

His irritation growing with this creature by the second, he balefully quipped, "Not that it's any of your business, but I'm the father of the baby."

Completely unembarrassed by her mistake, the woman exhaled a long, "Ohhhh." She gave Grace a long stare, then slugged Oliver on the shoulder and proclaimed, "Smooth, mister. I'll go turn this in." Waving the order pad in the air by way of explanation, she disappeared through a swinging door.

By now Grace truly was choking, and downed half a glass of water in an attempt to stop. Oliver looked at her in exasperation.

"You're not helping!"

She gasped, "I'm sorry," as she fell into another coughing fit. Two more gulps of water later, she was under control enough to rasp, "You're not old enough to be my father, Oliver."

"Close enough," he groused.

"What you are, " Grace persisted, "is perfect for me and our baby." Before he could reply, she continued, "And speaking of the baby, what are we going to do?"

He struggled to catch up to her change in subject, "About what?"

"Do we tell Annie now or wait until after the wedding?"

"Ah," he said in understanding. He huffed out a breath. "If we tell her now, and even if we ask her to keep it quiet, the entire staff will know by tomorrow morning."

Grace nodded. "My thoughts exactly. I'm not sure I want the whole house knowing about this quite yet. Then again, a good portion of the staff will suspect by next week when I have to wear my blouses outside my skirt to hide the fact that I can't get them buttoned anymore!" At that pronouncement, her eyes suddenly grew wide and she groaned, "Oh, no."

"Grace?" Oliver asked in concern, thinking she was feeling ill again.

Her hand covered her eyes and she lamented, "By the time the wedding gets here, my clothes will be too tight. I was going to take the white dress you like so much on the honeymoon, but by then it won't fit!" Her face crumpled and tears suddenly began to course down her cheeks as she mourned her disappearing waist line.

Oliver looked at her in alarm and dismay, thinking he'd never seen anyone cry so much in one day. Suddenly a box of tissues was thrust under Grace's nose by the ever helpful waitress, who then began patting her back.

"Don't worry, honey, it's only temporary. You're young enough, you'll get your shape back fairly quick."

"Do you really think so?" Grace quavered as she blew her nose on one of the tissues.

"Sure," the waitress predicted. "The first two kids aren't much of a problem, it's the third and fourth that are the kickers."

Suddenly besieged by a horrible image of a lifetime of pregnancy and children, Grace began to tear up again.

Finally losing his patience with the well-meaning waitress, Oliver growled, "Don't you have work to do elsewhere?"

The waitress crinkled her brow at him, then turned back to Grace, who was now mopping her eyes. Tilting her head in Oliver's direction, the woman asked, "Is he always this cranky?"

Grace waved her hand through the air in dismissal while trying to stem another onslaught of tears. "This isn't cranky," she hiccupped. "He's only mildly irritated."

A bell dinged from the direction of the kitchen. "That'll be your order. I'll be back." The woman patted Grace on the shoulder. "Hang in there, honey." She gave Oliver a look of warning as she moved away.

Oliver leaned across the table to hiss, "Mildly irritated?"

Grace grabbed another tissue and blew her nose again. Off handedly she said, "Oh, Oliver, you're cute when you're irritated."

His eyebrows rose in surprise and secret delight. He'd never considered himself cute by any sense of the word. He chuckled and handed her another tissue. "We're quite a pair, aren't we?"

Grace gave him a watery smile. "I admit, this hasn't been one of my better days."

He grabbed her hand again. "Grace, you'll get some more clothes."

"I know," she sniffled again. "It's not the clothes, so much, really, it's just that," and she paused, looking at him forlornly. "Oliver, I'm not ready for this! I don't know anything about taking care of a baby! I've hardly gotten used to being involved with you – half the time I still don't know what to call you – and now in seven months we're going to be _parents_?" Her voice was laced with panic. "Being a mother to Annie is easy, but this," she shook her head, feeling slightly hysterical, "this is completely different! I don't want to stop working, but what if I can't handle the workload and the baby, especially with all the added responsibilities of the seaboard interests? What if I don't have time for Annie? She was cast off by her real parents, I don't want her to feel neglected. What if…."

Feeling slightly panicky himself after her list of fears, Oliver grabbed her other hand and implored, "Grace!" arresting her litany long enough to get a word in. "First, you will make a wonderful mother. I've often thought that while watching you with Annie, who adores you. She will understand if you can't spend as much time with her as in the past. If you want to keep working, fine, and if it turns out to be too much, we'll hire extra staff until you feel you can handle it again. If you feel you can never handle it, then I'll take back control of your side of the business and get used to a substandard secretary once more, because anyone after you could only be substandard. And as for what to call me, if you ever call me 'sir' again I'll drop whatever I'm doing and kiss you until your knees shake!"

This last produced a tiny grin on Grace's lips which grew until she was chuckling. "Can I count on that?"

Oliver smiled back at her. "Absolutely." He reached across the small table and ran the tips of his fingers down her tear stained cheek. "Above all else, remember, you won't be doing any of this alone. I'll be right there with you."

She reached out and mimicked his caress, rubbing her hand against his cheek, feeling the day's growth of whiskers. When she brought it down low enough, he kissed her palm.

"What about you?" she asked quietly.

Confused as to her meaning, he frowned. "What about me?"

"You've gone through a lot of very big changes lately. You have to be feeling the impact. I mean, you haven't varied your daily routine in five years, probably longer, and suddenly you went from being Oliver Warbucks the billionaire to…."

"You're Oliver Warbucks?!" the waitress nearly screeched as she dropped a bowl of crackers onto the table in front of Grace.

Oliver eyed her with more than mild irritation. "Yes, I am," he grumbled, wondering what it would take to get her to leave them alone.

The woman turned back to Grace, nodding in approval and more than a little awe. "Nice catch, honey. He's one of the world's top ten bachelors, you know."

Grace smiled in amusement as Oliver's ears turned pink. "I know."

Oliver sighed in exasperation. "Weren't you going to bring the food?"

"What? Oh, yeah. Bill over-cooked your steak, so he had to start from scratch. I came by to bring the lady these to keep her going until it's ready." She returned her attention to Grace. "Crackers really help keep the sickness down. I'll bring more with your soup," and she was gone.

Sitting in stunned silence for a few seconds, Grace looked at Oliver and dissolved into giggles. After what seemed like an eternity to the man sitting across from her, she was able to ask, "Would you like a cracker?"

Finally accepting the absurdity of the situation, he said, "Don't mind if I do," and plucked one from the bowl. "And Grace," he paused until she had calmed down enough to give him her full attention. "I'm still the same old Oliver Warbucks. My world's just far bigger and better than it was three months ago." He suddenly snapped his fingers. "Which reminds me," and he reached into the pocket of his suit coat that was lying on the bench next to him. "I believe this belongs to you." He held out her engagement ring

She eyed the ring lying innocently in his palm. She remembered how, earlier in the day, she couldn't get it off her finger fast enough. Now she reached out a shaking hand and let him slide it back on. Then he grasped her fingers and brought them to his lips, pressing a lingering kiss against them.

"No matter what happens in the future, I will always love you."

The sudden crash of breaking glass followed by invectives in a male voice drifted from the direction of the kitchen. Musing that his steak was now likely all over the kitchen floor, Oliver muttered, "Assuming, of course, that we survive this dinner."

CHAPTER 15

One year later:

Annie slipped into the study, eyeing the cigar smoke hanging in the air, so heavy that it obscured the other side of the room. _Mom is going to throw a fit when she sees this!_ She took in the five men sitting around the table, all deeply engrossed in their monthly poker game. She spotted Daddy Warbucks in the chair nearest the door. He was relaxing against the padded back, holding his cigar in his left hand, occasionally taking a puff while moving his cards around. She sidled up to his chair, peeking at the cards he held to see if he had anything worthwhile. He noticed her and silently turned the cards so she could see them better. He didn't have much. The deal was coming round to him for an exchange of cards if he desired, and he raised his eyebrows at Annie, silently asking her opinion.

She indicated keeping two cards and disposing of the rest. Oliver's eyebrows rose further at the two she wanted him to keep. Annie pursed her lips, nodding emphatically. So, with a disbelieving tilt of his head, he discarded the three she'd pointed out and asked the dealer for three more.

"Three, Oliver? This isn't turning out to be your night." C. V. Whitney shook his head in mock dismay, and looked to the next man for instructions.

John D., Jr. threw out two cards, accepting the substitutes Whitney slid his way. "I thought we'd agreed long ago that partnerships weren't allowed." He inclined his head in Annie's direction, a slight scowl on his face.

"Oh, come on, John. Don't tell me you're intimidated by an 11 year old girl." Oliver slowly picked up his cards, placing them into his hand while Annie peered over his shoulder.

Jack Morgan gave a short barking laugh. "Oliver, that innocent 11 year old cleaned our clocks the last time you let her sit in a hand. She's deceptively savvy." He directly addressed Annie. "Young lady, when you're finished helping your father, you're welcome to take a look at my hand. My night isn't going so well," and he slid three cards toward Whitney.

Annie smiled in delight at the attention. "I'd be happy to look at your cards, Mr. Morgan, but I couldn't help you beat Daddy Warbucks. Besides, " Annie eyed Oliver's pile of chips, comparing them with Morgan's, "you're still doing better than he is."

Whitney threw his head back in laughter. "Annie, you're priceless!"

Lammot DuPont II indicated he wanted two cards. "I say she can stay if she'll let us in on what That Man In the White House is up to. I understand you accompanied Warbucks to their meeting last week." He looked at Annie pointedly.

"I'll second that motion, and since Oliver won't tell us anything, Annie, what is he doing these days?" Whitney took two cards for himself.

"Can we play the hand, please?" John's voice was filled with obvious aggravation at his fellow card players.

Oliver arranged the cards in order and showed them to Annie, who nodded sagely and sat back on her heels, her hands clasped behind her back in blatant imitation of her father's favorite pose. "That's what we're doing, John. I bid two hundred," Oliver said innocently as he threw the specified chips into the center of the table.

Whitney smiled, taking in Annie's posture. "Make it count, gentlemen. I believe we're about to have our clocks cleaned again."

Oliver said nothing, drawing another puff on his cigar.

"Annie! Annie, where are you?" a decidedly female voice called distantly from the hallway.

Annie ran to the door and yelled, "I'm with the Risky Gamblers, Mom!" Then she hurried back to Oliver's side, eager to see how the hand played out.

"Risky Gamblers?" Lammot raised his eyebrows at Oliver.

Oliver smiled, still studying his cards. "Grace is convinced I wager half the fortune every time we play."

His face giving nothing away, Morgan said, "You do, Oliver, you just never lose it."

Oliver was saved from having to defend himself by the arrival of his wife. "Annie! There you are! I've been looking all over for you. It's well past your…." Grace entered the room and stopped dead. Wrinkling her nose and waving her hand in front of her face, she exclaimed, "Good lord, how to you men breathe in here? This place smells like a saloon!" She gave her husband an exasperated glare. "I see your resolution to quit smoking hasn't gone well this evening. The least you could do is open a window!"

She moved across the room and started throwing the windows and French doors open, allowing as much fresh air in as possible. Immediately the smoke began to dissipate.

"Grace, you know I play better when I'm smoking." Oliver sent her a saucy grin.

She eyed Oliver's slim pile of chips. "If that's the case, you haven't been smoking enough."

Whitney burst into laughter again. Chortling, he quipped, "Oh, I love playing here! Grace, you should have been sitting in on our games all along." Indicating Oliver, he added, "Warbucks has become much more fun since he acquired female companionship."

"Women have no business playing poker with the men!" John scowled even more heavily as he shuffled his cards around.

Grace approached the table and leaned against Oliver's chair, glancing at his cards. To John she said, "Still treating the female members of your family like helpless children, Mr. Rockefeller? I would think you'd want at least the reputation of living in the enlightened age."

"Speaking of females," Oliver smoothly interrupted before John and Grace started a battle that became the next revolution, "is Margaret still asleep?"

"Yes, but likely not for long." Grace reluctantly let Oliver distract her, and she turned to Annie. "I came to get you because she'll be hungry when she wakes up, and I won't be able to tuck you in."

Immediately Annie gave her mother a pleading look. "Oh, can't I stay and watch the hand, Mom? Please?"

Oliver weighed in. "She did choose the cards, Grace. It would only be fair to let her see how well, or not so well, the hand turns out." He surveyed his cards, sighing heavily.

After a brief consideration, Grace acquiesced. "Okay, but only this hand. Once it's over, I expect you in bed."

"All right. I'll meet you there in a few minutes." Annie leaned down next to Oliver's ear and quietly whispered, "If you play fast, I might be able to stay for two hands!"

Grace leaned in to Oliver's other side and pecked him on the cheek. "I heard that, Annie." To Oliver, she teased, "Don't lose the house."

Oliver glanced at her sheepishly. "I already have. Annie's helping me win it back."

Without missing a beat, Grace straightened and said, "In that case I won't start packing." With a final wink in Oliver's direction and a soft caress of his cheek, she bid the gentlemen good night and left the room.

Whitney stared after her and sighed. "Oliver, you're one lucky man!"

Oliver noticed the direction of Whitney's stare and sent his own wink to Annie. "I have to agree."

Several rounds of rather intense bidding took place following Grace's departure, contributing to a very large pot in the center of the table. Annie didn't want to think about the considerable sum of money her father stood to lose should the hand not go his way. If she didn't know, her mother couldn't wheedle it out of her later. Both John and Lammott dropped out, leaving Morgan, Whitney and Daddy Warbucks.

Finally Whitney said. "Let's see them."

Morgan laid down three Jacks. "Read 'em and weep, gentlemen!" He reached for the pot, but Whitney grabbed his hand.

"Not so fast, Jack. Oliver here may have Grace, but I have three, count them, _three_ beautiful ladies," and he laid down a run of queens. He clapped his hands together and laughed gleefully.

Oliver smiled at his friend's antics. "C. V., you're only half right. Grace has _me_, and I only need one beautiful lady." At that he turned his cards around so the rest of the men could see. "I believe a royal flush beats your three queens."

Both C. V. and Morgan groaned while John laughed in the first expression of mirth he'd displayed all evening. "Serves you right, Whitney. Women are nothing but distractions, even the smart ones. And beautiful women are nothing but trouble," referring to Whitney's own problematic past with a certain dancer.

Oliver motioned Annie to rake the chips in his direction. "I'm sorry you feel that way, John. I wouldn't trade my smart, beautiful women," and he tweaked Annie's nose, "for your family's trust fund." He turned toward his daughter. "Well played, Annie. And now it's bedtime."

Annie gave her father a tight hug and kissed his cheek. "See you in the morning, Daddy Warbucks! I'll tell Mom you won the house back."

"I'd say he won more than the house!" Lammot grimaced good humoredly as Annie skipped out of the room.

"You know, John," Oliver began as he stacked the numerous chips the last hand had brought him, "maybe the women in your life wouldn't be so troublesome if you showed them a little respect."

John raised his eyebrows at the comment. "On the contrary, Oliver, I do respect Abby. I listen to her opinions, I even support many of her causes, but she knows I have the final decision on everything."

"And you control the purse strings," Oliver observed.

"Well, of course I do! Abby gets a generous allowance; she has nothing to complain about. God knows what she'd do if she had access to all the money."

Jack looked askance at Oliver. "Don't tell me you give Grace carte blanche to the bank account!"

"Well of course I do," Oliver answered in blatant imitation of John, neither his face nor his voice giving away his growing irritation "We give Annie an allowance. As she's an eleven year old, that's appropriate. Grace, however, is a responsible adult whose business acumen adds to that bank account. To use her skills and then deny her the return simply because she's female would be extremely condescending and," he looked at John, "disrespectful. She was no pauper when we married, completely due to her own management, and to love her as a woman and treat her like a child would likely be grounds for divorce in her mind."

Lammot laughed. "Oliver, she has you wrapped around her finger. You allow her far too much latitude and independence."

Oliver smiled softly. "I agree, I am wrapped around her finger, and I wouldn't have it any other way. But I don't 'allow' Grace anything, any more than she does me. We're partners, in marriage and in business, and it's working out splendidly."

Whitney looked at him in astonishment. "Do you mean to say that you made her a partner in the _business_?"

"Full partner, no, not yet." To everyone's surprise, Oliver said, "But she currently is in charge of a large portion of the domestic interests, including several companies that hardly turned a profit for over a year before Grace took control. She has a personal, hands-on managerial approach that I don't have the time or patience for, and it's working extremely well. The latest quarterly reports show not only an improvement in every single one of her divisions, but a marked one." He looked straight at Whitney. "It's hard to argue with success."

Morgan shook his head. "That's going to backfire on you someday, Oliver. What happens if the marriage doesn't work and you and Grace divorce? I'll tell you what will happen; you'll lose half your business empire!"

Lammot nodded his head in agreement. "I can personally attest to the fragility of the married state! I've made my last two wives sign pre-nuptial agreements so I _don't_ lose everything when it turns sour."

Oliver looked down at the table, somberly contemplating the inlaid pattern of the wood. "If Grace and I ever divorce, I'll lose something far more precious than the business, and I'll fight tooth and nail to make sure it never comes to that. I can't imagine my life without her in it. To be honest, I'd rather lose the entire fortune and still have Grace and the girls than go back to the life I had before Annie came." After a few seconds of silent thought, he shook himself out of his solemn reverie and sat up straighter. "However, with Grace and I as partners, I don't see that happening.

John regarded Oliver seriously. "I hope so, Oliver, for your sake. I never want to have to say 'I told you so.'"

"You won't," Oliver said forcefully. "I'm delighted with the way things have turned out. If I can presume to speak for her, I dare say Grace is happy too." He looked at John. "If you asked, do you think Abby would answer the same? Or any of your wives, for that matter."

All four men, including John, considered the question in silence.

Taking the non-answer as an answer, Oliver stood up, gathering his chips. "Well, gentlemen, I think I'm going to take my winnings and see my wife," he leaned in conspiratorially, "the one you all let get away." He straightened with a pleased smile. "Feel free to stay and play as long as you want with the money you have left. See you next month." He flipped a lone chip onto the table and left the room.

Morgan glanced at his companions. "How long do you think before the honeymoon wears off and we have the old Oliver Warbucks back?"

Lammot shook his head and sighed. "He's pretty far gone; I don't know if he'll ever be the same again."

"I wouldn't count on it," John agreed thoughtfully. He rose, stubbed out his cigar, and grabbed his coat off the back of the chair. "I'm going home too. I think maybe I'll have a talk with Abby."

He walked out, leaving Morgan, Lammot and Whitney staring at each other in surprise.

"What just happened?" C. V. asked the other two.

Morgan raked his chips into his hat. "I'd say the Risky Gamblers have been domesticated." He too stubbed out his cigar. "Well, boys, I'm heading for the club. Care to join me?"

Whitney and Lammot looked at one another and shrugged. "I'm in," Lammot rose, placing his hat on his head.

"Me too," Whitney chimed in exasperation. "If I stick around here my playboy image will be compromised," and he followed his friends out the door.

* * *

Oliver peeked into the nursery and spotted Grace sitting in a rocking chair, holding Margaret. Grace's head was resting against the back of the cushion and her eyes were closed. She appeared to be fast asleep. Margaret, languishing in a full tummy, lolled her head back and forth, visually perusing the part of the room she could see from her mother's lap. As Oliver quietly approached the pair, the baby girl spotted him and broke into a toothless grin, giving a kick and a squeal. Grace's head snapped up and her arms reflexively clutched her daughter to prevent the baby from kicking herself right off her lap.

Oliver paused, and smiled apologetically. "Sorry. I didn't mean to wake you."

"I wasn't asleep," Grace denied, but a sudden huge yawn bellied her response. "But I probably should be," she rolled her eyes in mild exasperation. "Whatever happened to the days of enough energy to work until midnight?"

"We still stay up until midnight. We just found better things to do!"

Grace grinned at her husband, wondering if he meant staying awake because of the baby or in spite of the baby.

"How did the poker game turn out? Annie told me we don't have to move for another month, so I assume it went well."

He returned her grin. "No, we don't have to move, and we even have enough money to fix that leaky bathtub faucet!" He leaned down and kissed Margaret's fuzzy head.

Grace smiled widely. "Thank goodness. I was afraid I was going to have to get a second job!"

Oliver gestured to the baby who was now gurgling around a fist in her mouth. "You already have two jobs."

Grace grimaced. "Some days it feels like I have five!"

Oliver set down several sheets of paper on a nearby table and pulled Margaret to him, placing her against his shoulder and rubbing her back the way she liked. She gave a whimper of pleasure and nuzzled her father's shoulder. Speaking directly to Margaret but for Grace's benefit, he said, "Your mother reacts the same way when I do that to her."

Grace sent him a look of annoyance. "Very funny. See if I do it in the future."

Oliver gave her a knowing look. "You will."

Unable to think of a retort, Grace scowled good naturedly, grumbling, "You're impossible!"

He continued his knowing look a little longer for added emphasis, but finally broke into a grin, bringing Margaret down to cradle her so he could tickle her neck. Speaking to the little girl again, he crooned, "Your mother likes it when I do this, too,"

Laughing, Grace negated, "No, I like it when you kiss me there."

"Among other places."

Still giggling, she bantered. "It's a good thing Margaret doesn't understand any of this."

Oliver's eyes grew wide. "Indeed," he agreed, thinking back to an incident early in their marriage when he'd just finished telling Grace she was the sexiest woman he'd ever known right as Annie entered the room. It took the two of them fifteen embarrassing minutes to explain what he meant in a benign way to the ever inquisitive red head. It was a conversation he didn't care to repeat in the near future. At least to anyone besides Grace!

Still tickling Margaret's neck, he nodded his head toward the papers on the table. "There's the third quarter report. It came in late this afternoon; I don't think you've seen it yet. Take a look."

Suddenly nervous, she eyed the innocent sheets of paper warily, still uncertain of how her efforts with her portion of the company would look when presented in the stark truth of numbers.

"Do I want to see it?"

Oliver looked at her with exasperated affection. "Grace, despite the beginning of your business revolution being a little on the rocky side, I think you'll like what you see now. I certainly couldn't be more pleased."

She had to smile at his off-handed description of the start of her new career as a general district manager. She'd caused so much upheaval when she first took over, she doubted Oliver would ever hire another female, regardless of his protestations to the contrary. Of the eleven subsidiary companies she oversaw, she'd had to fire five plant managers outright for refusing to work with a woman. Despite her initial anger and disgust, she grew to appreciate those five because they were at least honest. Two more had to be let go for giving her lip service but sabotaging her efforts subversively. One of those two had actually attempted to rile the plant workers into joining the union and striking. Astounded that anyone would be so dead set against working with her, Grace gave up on the manager and appealed to the workers personally, asking if they'd rather see their wives and children starve than help her make their plant more successful. At seven months pregnant, she cut quite a figure, one that must have appealed to their better nature. When she saw their determination weaken, she told them Oliver Warbucks only hired people who were good at their job; they were there for that reason, and so was she. Together they could do something to truly be proud of, if they were willing to take the opportunity. Or they could all lose their jobs, including her. When someone shouted that Warbucks wouldn't fire his own wife, she'd tartly responded that if he actually believed that, then he didn't know Oliver Warbucks very well. Not a day went by that she secretly didn't expect him to fire her.

Once she had management under control, she systematically started working on plant production, streamlining work flow, moving people to positions that played to their strengths, and even going to the radical extreme of hiring women to do jobs that were better suited to female temperaments and physical attributes. That move really did cause resentment. Oliver fielded so many complaints about her that, while publicly supporting her one hundred percent, privately he wondered if perhaps he'd made a mistake putting her in charge so abruptly.

Grace was undeterred, however, and despite being well into her pregnancy, doggedly kept at it until she was satisfied that everything could carry on without her while she took a break and had Margaret. Or that's how she ignorantly imagined it. After three weeks of motherhood, she decided that, comparatively, whipping a plant into shape was a breeze. Used to her days being structured and organized, the baby threw her for a loop. Caught mentally unprepared, she struggled to get some equilibrium back into her life, and totally failed. Her despair mounted until she wished she'd never had Margaret, and could barely look at the baby without a wave of loathing spreading through her. She was miserable, and tearfully confided to Oliver late one night that she didn't think she could handle fulfilling what her family needed and what the business demanded. She couldn't even manage to get dressed most days anymore!

Oliver had learned enough about Grace in their seemingly short time together to realize that exhaustion was causing most of the problems, self-doubt the rest. He addressed the problem the way he solved all of his problems; he took over and sprang into action. He dictatorially told Grace she'd be taking eight weeks off instead of the four she'd originally planned. He knew the situation was truly dire when she didn't protest. He contacted the doctor who had seen Grace through the pregnancy and delivery, and when she heard Oliver's story, she assured him all new mothers experienced much the same emotions, but admitted that Grace's problems were likely exacerbated by her extremely organized personality, a draw-back in the world of a newborn, and outside professional considerations; the business world didn't pause for babies. When he asked for any suggestions, she told him about alternative feeding methods for infants. He learned of a relatively new infant formula called Similac that would allow Grace more freedom to meet her obligations but still satisfy Margaret's seemingly constant need for food. Rotating bottle feeding would also help Grace get more rest with the added benefit of allowing Oliver and Annie a more active role in the baby's life. The final step he took was to hire an assistant for Grace, someone who could take care of the time consuming things like typing reports as well as keep an eye on the baby when it wasn't practical for Grace to do so. He also, with much regret, hired another private secretary for himself.

The plan worked. Grace lost the pale, vacant, drawn visage she'd sunk into and gradually began to look like her old self again. Margaret thrived on the infant formula, not caring a bit where her food came from as long as she got as much as she wanted. Annie felt less ignored and usurped by the baby as she spent more time with her sister and her mother had more time for her. Grace even spent a few hours every day planning her reentry into the outside world of the boys' club, as she jokingly put it. She used the remainder of her leave well, and when she actually started back to working a full schedule, she hit the ground running.

Juggling a husband and two daughters, the youngest usually snuggled in a sling wrapped around her shoulders (a practice even Time magazine took note of), she continued to push the envelope on traditional business practices, achieving surprising results. By this point, Oliver no longer questioned his decision to make her a partner. The bottom line proved that not only did Grace know what she was doing, she was incredibly good at it. Personally Grace didn't feel she was doing anything exceptional, she was simply instituting policy that was guided by common sense. Unhampered by centuries old biases and practices, Grace's companies began to pull away from the competition, more so every month. The third quarter report showed definitively that Warbucks Intl. had found a true gem in Grace Farrell.

As Grace hesitantly picked up the report and began reading, Oliver gazed into Margaret's tiny face, and marveled for the hundredth time in the last year that all he had right now could be traced back to that decisive moment when his private secretary took a chance, claiming, "Oh, you didn't say you wanted a boy, sir, you just said an orphan. So I got a girl!"

THE END


End file.
